N 



^. ,# 






^^^.. v^ 



xQ^x. 



o 



3 M 



''^^/*.'>;~ 












■i"^-^- 
./ 



nO°-. 



o 0^ 


















-'^.>.' 



,/' 







H o 



^- -^ 



v * J 1 \ '* 










o >; <- 



^% 









.0^ ,^ "^ ' 



\0^>.. 






,d^ 



.0^ 






-x^'' ^^^ 



* . S ^ 
























%. 

.^^•^> 




^^^ 



THE 



Poetical Works 



OF 



JAMES BEATTIE 



WITH A MEMOIR. 




BOSTON : 
JAMES R. OSGOOD & COMPANY, 

(LATE TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO.) 
187I. 



7R33 



1^ 



-^K 



«1» 



ADVERTISEMENT 



THIS is a reprint of the Aldine edition 
of Beattie's Poems, with a careful 



revision. 



June, 1864. 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

Memoir of Beattie, by the Rev. Alexander Dyee vii 

The Minstrel; or, the Progress of Genius, Book 1 7 

The Minstrel ; or, the Progress of Genius, Book II 35 

Retirement 61 

Elegy : written in the year 1758 64 

Ode to Hope 67 

Ode on Lord Hay's Birthday 72 

The Battle of the Pigmies and Cranes, from the Pygmaeo- 

gerano-machia of Addison 76 

The Hares, a Fable 83 

Epitaph: being part of an Inscription designed for a 
Monument erected by u Guntlcuian to the Memory of 

his Lady 92 

The Hermit 92 

PIECES llEJECTED BY THE AUTHOR FROM THE LATER 
EDITIONS OF HIS POEMS. 

The Judgment of Paris 97 

Ode to Peace 120 

The Triumph of Melancholy. 126 

Elegy 136 

Elegy 138 

The Wolf and Shepherds 141 

On the Report of a Monument to be erected in West- 
minster Abbey, to the Memory of a late Author 145 



VI ~ CONTENTS. 

Pago 
Song, in Imitation of Shakspeare's ' Blow, Blow, thou 

winter wind' 163 

Epitaph on two young Men of the name of Leitch, who 

were drowned in crossing the River Southesk, 1757. . , 164 

Epitaph, intended for himself. 155 

Verses witten by Mr. Blacklock, on a blank leaf of his 

Poems, sent to the Author 156 

An Epistle to the Rev. Mr. Thomas Blacklock 157 

To the Rt. Hon. Lady Charlotte Gordon, dressed in a 

Tartan Scotch Bonnet, with Plumes 166 

Anacreon, Ode XXII 167 

The beginning of the First Book of Lucretius , 167 

Horace, Book H. Ode X 170 

Book HI. Ode XIH 171 

Virgil, Pastoral 1 173 

n 179 

m 184 

IV 194 

V 198 

VI 205 

VII 210 

VIII 216 

IX 223 

X 229 

Epitaph for a Sheriff's Messenger : written and published 
at the particular desire of the Person for whom it is 

intended 234 

To Mr. Alexander Ross, at Lochlee, Author of ' The 
Fortunate Shepherdess,' and other Poems in the broad 
Scotch Dialect 285 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE, 

BY THE REV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 



" Heard yon that Hermit's strain from Scotia borne, 
' For virtue lost, and ruin'd man I mourn ? ' 
Who may forget thee, Beattie ? who supply 
The tale half-told of Edwin's'minstrelsy ? " 

The Pursuits of Literature. 

The subject of this memoir was born on the 25th 
of October, 1735, at Laurencekirk, in the county 
of Kincardine, Scotland. His father, James 
Beattie, who kept a small shop in the village at 
the same time that he rented a little farm in the 
neighbourhood, was a man of considerable talents 
and acquirements : * his mother, too, was distin- 
guished for her abilities. Our author, James, 
was the youngest of the six children of this re- 
spectable pair. 

After his father's decease, which happened 
when he was only seven years old, his mothei-, 

♦ " At his leisure hours he cultivated the muses. A jour- 
nal kept by him, as well as some specimens of his poetry, 
are still in the possession of his descendants. This last cir- 
cumstance is the more worthy of being noticed, as it proves 
that Dr. Beattie derived his poetical turn from his father." — 
Bower's Life of BeaUie, 1804, p. 2. 



VIU MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

by means of the emoluments derived from the 
shop and the farm, was enabled to bring up her 
family in comfort. In the management of her 
affairs she was assisted by her eldest son, David, 
a youth of eighteen, who generously and affec- 
tionately relinquished all other pursuits for that 
of promoting her welfare and happiness, and who 
appears to have fostered his brothers and sisters 
with an almost parental care. James was placed 
at the parish school of Laurencekirk, which was 
then in some repute, and of which, about forty 
years before, Ruddiman, the famous grammarian, 
had been the master. At this time he had access 
to few books, except those which the minister of 
the village (the Rev. Mr. Thomson) kindly lent 
him, and which he read with avidity. It was 
then that he first became acquainted with Eng- 
lish versification in Ogilby's Virgil. Even then 
he was known- among his schoolfellows by the 
name of the poet; and sometimes he would rise 
from bed, during the night, that he might com- 
mit to writing any poetical idea that his iimcy 
had happened to suggest. 

In 1749 he began his academical career, at the 
Marischal College, Aberdeen : * and as his cir- 

* According to Bower, Beattie was supported at college 
by the generosity of his brother David, who accompanied 
him to Aberdeen, when he first quitted Laurencekirk to 
commence his course at the University. " The peculiar 
mode of their conveyance to Aberdeen is a matter of very 
trifling moment. It may not be unacceptable to some, liow- 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. IX 

cumstanccs were straitened, he became a com- 
petitor — and with success — for one of those bur- 
saries or exhibitions, which are annually bestowed 
on students who are unable to support the entire 
expenses of a university education. He at- 
tended the Greek class taught by Dr. Blackwell. 
This scholar, whose writings on classical sub- 
jects,* though now fallen into disrepute, once 
enjoyed considerable popularity, soon discovered 
that his pupil was no ordinary young man, and 
distinguished him by several encouraging marks 
of approbation. The kindness of the Professor 
made a deep impression on the mind of Beattie, 
and he used to declare, in after life, that Black- 
well was the first person who gave him reason to 
beheve that he was possessed of any genius. 
During the four years of his attendance at the 
Marischal College he also studied philosophy and 
divinity. The last mentioned branch of knowledge 
he pursued doubtless with a view to tlie ministry, 
the church being then the chief resource of the 
well educated sons of tlie poorer classes in Scot- 
land : he, however, soon abandoned all thoughts 
of the clerical profession. - 

Having taken the degree of M. A., he was 
elected, on the 1st of August, 1753, schoolmaster 

ever, to be informed, that they rode on one horse ; and at a 
season of the year not the mopt agreeable for undertaking a 
journey (wheu good roads were unknown in Scotland) of 
thirty Knglish miles."— Z,i/e of Beattie, 1804, p. 17. 
+ Life (if Hojiier, G/uri of Auytislus., &c. 



X MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

of Fordoun, a small hamlet at the foot of the 
Grampian hills, about six miles distant from his 
birthplace : here also he officiated as pra3centor, 
or parish-clerk. 

Many an hour was now spent by Beattie in 
perfect solitude ; the family of Mr. Forbes, the 
minister, being almost the only society, save the 
surrounding peasantry, which his situation allowed 
him to enjoy. But his days went happily by. 
When not occupied by his public duties, he ap- 
pears to have devoted a portion of his time to 
the study of the classics ; * and occasionally he 
amused himself by composing little poems, a few 
of which were printed in the Scots Magazine. 
His fondness for music had ever been decided ; 
and in his present retirement he cultivated it 
with uncommon success, t In the grand and 
beautiful scenery of the neighbourhood he found 
a never-failing source of pleasure. Not far from 
the place where he dwelt, a large and well wooded 
glen communicates with the mountains. In it 
he loved to wander; in it some of his earliest 
verses were written ; and his recollections of its 
wild and romantic charms may be traced in seve- 
ral vivid descriptions of nature in his poetical 
works. Sometimes he would pass the whole 
night among the fields, gazing on the sky, and 
observing the various aspects it assumed till the 
return of day ; and the exhilarating song of " the 

* Bower's Lift of Beattie, 180-i, p. 89. f Ihid. p. 100. 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. XI 

lyric lark " in the mornings of summer used to 
fill him with delight. In 1755, his loneliness 
was cheered by the arrival of his brother David, 
who came to settle himself at the village of For- 
doun. 

The celebrated and eccentric Francis Garden, 
Esq., (afterwards one of the judges of the supreme 
courts of civil and criminal law in Scotland, by 
the title of Lord Gardenstone,) who was then 
sheriff of the county of Kincardine, and occa- 
sionally resided in the neighbourhood of For- 
doun, was the earliest patron of our author. 
They accidentally became acquainted with each 
other. Mr. Garden having one day discovered 
Beattie busily writing with a pencil in his fa- 
vourite glen, and learning that he was engaged 
in the composition of a poem,* from that period 
took him under his protection. 

At this time too he became known to another 
more celebrated and more eccentric character. 
Lord Monboddo, whose family estate is in the 
parish of Fordoun ; and though their opinions on 
some important points by no means coincided, 
they ever after lived on friendly terms. 

In 1757, the place of usher in the grammar- 
school of Aberdeen being vacant, Beattie, by the 
advice of Mr. Forbes, the minister of Fordoun, 

* Lord Gardenstone was himself a votary of the muses, 
though his verses are now forgotten. As a satirical poet he 
is far from contemptible. 



Xll MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

became a candidate for it, but without success. 
So conspicuously, however, had his abihties ma- 
nifested themselves during his examination on 
that occasion, that the same place becoming 
again vacant about a year after, and two candi- 
dates having appeared, both of whom were de- 
clared unqualified for it, he was requested by the 
magistrates to fill it without further trial. He 
was accordingly elected to the office on the 20th 
June, 1758. 

This was an important event in Beattie's life. 
From a secluded hamlet, where there was the 
greatest difficulty in obtaining either society or 
books, he was transplanted to a populous and 
flourishing town, where he might associate with 
those whose tastes were congenial with his own, 
and carry on his literary pursuits by means of 
public libraries. The friend of his earlier years, 
Professor Blackwell, had sunk into the grave ; 
but he had soon the good fortune to become 
intimately acquainted with several persons of ac- 
knowledged talents and learning, connected with 
the Marischal and King's Colleges, as also with 
various well educated gentlemen, inhabitants of 
the town. 

In 1760, a chair in the Marischal College be- 
coming vacant, it was suggested to Beattie by 
his friend, Mr. Arbuthnot,* that he should en- 

* Robert Arbuthnot, Esq., Secretary to the Board of Trus- 
tees for Fisheries, Manufactures, and ImDrovements in Scot- 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. XUl 

deavour to procure the appointment for himself. 
Our author, who had never dreamed of aspiring 
to so dignified a situation, heard the proposal 
with astonishment. Mr. Arbuthnot, however, 
"willing to try what could be done," induced 
thB Earl of Erroll, with whom he was on intimate 
terms, to solicit, by means of Lord Milton, the 
powerful interest of the Duke of Argyll in behalf 
of the humble usher. The application proved 
successful ; and on the 8th October, 1760, Beattie 
was installed Professor of Moral Philosophy and 
Loofic in the Marischal Colleo^e. 

His first lectures were delivered during the 
winter session of 1760, and 1761 ; and for the 
long space of more than thirty years he continued 
to discharge most conscientiously the duties of 
the important station to which he had been so 
unexpectedly raised. 

A literary and convivial club (to which the 
vulgar gave the nickname of the Wise Club) had 
been established for some years at Aberdeen, the 
members consisting of the Professors of the Ma- 
rischal and King's Colleges, and of gentlemen of 
the town, who had a taste for literature and con- 
versation. Into this society Beattie was now 
enrolled. They used to meet at a tavern, once 

land, who resided chiefly at Peterhead, where he carried on 
business as a merchant; a person of considerable taste and 
learning. He was nearly related to the famous Dr. Arbuth- 
not, the friend of Pope and Swift. 



XIV MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

a fortnight, at five o'clock in the afternoon, (for 
in those days the common dinner-hour was early) 
when, the president taking the chair, an essay 
was read, composed by one of the members in 
his turn, and a literary or philosophical subject 
discussed ; at half past eight a slight meal was 
served up, and at ten they retired to their homes. 
To this club Dr. Eeid, Dr. Campbell, Dr. Ger- 
rard, and Dr. Gregory, belonged; and from it 
several admired works of philosophy and criti- 
cism may be said to have originated. 

In 17G1 Beattie made his first appearance in 
print, in his own character, by publishing a small 
volume, dedicated to the Earl of Erroll, entitled 
Original Poems and Translations. It consisted 
partly of some of the verses which he had formerly 
sent to the Scots Magazine, and partly of pieces 
which he had recently composed. " This collec- 
tion," says his good-natured and not very taste- 
ful biographer. Sir William Forbes, " was very 
favourably received, and stamped Dr. Beattie 
with the character of a poet of great and original 
genius." It was certainly " favourably received," 
the chief critical journals of the day being unani- 
mous in its praise ; but that it " stamped the 
author with the character of a poet of great and 
original genius," I cannot allow. The truth is, 
it does not contain a single poem which rises 
much above mediocrity ; and if Beattie had never 
touched the lyre with a more powerful hand, a 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. XV 

memoir of his life would not have been required for 
the Aldine Poets. So lightly, indeed, did he him- 
self afterwards think of the collection in question, 
tliat he used to destroy all the copies of it which 
he could procure, and would only suffer four 
pieces from it (and these much altered and im- 
j)roved) to stand in the same volume with The 
Minstrel. 

During the summer of 1763, Beattie for the 
first time visited London, among the inhabitants 
of which, Millar, his publisher, was almost his 
only acquaintance. While residing there, he 
made a pilgrimage to Pope's villa at Twicken- 
ham. 

The Judgment of Paris, printed in 4to, in 
1765, was the least successful of our author's 
poetical works. Several passages of considerable 
beauty could not prevent this elaborate, cold, 
and metaphysical production from being utterly 
neglected by the public. 

That his Verses on the death of Churchill 
(which appeared anonymously very soon after 
The Judgment of Paris) were read with moi-c 
attention, is to be attributed rather to the subject 
of the piece than to its intrinsic merit.* No one 

* Sir William Forbes says it " had a rapid sale." Mr. 
A. Chalmers, however {Poets, vol. xviii. p. 519), doubts if 
it was ever published for sale, except in Beattie's Poems, 1766, 
in the Advertisement to which we are told that it " appeared 
in a separate pamphlet in the beginning of the year 1765." 
1 have been unable to meet with the origmal edition. 



XVI MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

can peruse it without regretting that the amiable 
Beattie should have been betrayed by political 
feelings into such virulent abuse of a man of 
genius, who had just been gathered to the poets 
of other days. He is said to have written it at 
the solicitation of certain friends in Scotland, 
where the name of Churchill was held in detest- 
ation ; and on these injudicious instigators let a 
portion of the odium rest. 

In the autumn of 1765, Gray, who was then 
regarded as the first of living bards, paid a visit 
to the Earl of Strathmore, at Glamrais castle. 
No sooner did Beattie hear of his arrival than he 
addressed to him the following letter: 

Marischal College of Aberdeen, 30th August, 1765. 
" If I thought it necessary to offer an apology 
for venturing to address you in this abrupt manner, 
I should be very much at a loss how to begin. 
I might plead my admiration of your genius, and 
my attachment to your character ; but who is he 
that could not, with truth, urge the same excuse 
for intruding upon your retirement? I might 
plead my earnest desire to be personally acquainted 
with a man whom I have so long and so passion- 
ately admired in his writings ; but thousands of 
greater consequence than I, are ambitious of the 
same honour. I, indeed, must either flatter my- 
self that no apology is necessary, or otherwise I 
must despair of obtaining what has long been 
the object of my most ardent wishes ; I must for- 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. XVll 

ever forfeit all hopes of seeing you, and convers- 
ing with you. 

" It was yesterday I received the agreeable 
news of your being in Scotland, and of your in- 
tending to visit some parts of it. Will you per- 
mit us to hope, tliat we shall have an opportunity, 
at Aberdeen, of thanking you in person, for the 
honour you have done to Britain, and to the po- 
etic art, by your inestimable compositions, and of 
offering you all that we have that deserves your 
acceptance, namely, hearts full of esteem, respect, 
and affection ? If you cannot come so far north- 
ward, let me at least be acquainted with the plac 
of your residence, and permitted to wait on you 
Forgive, sir, this request ; forgive me if I urge it 
with earnestness, for indeed it concerns me nearly ; 
and do me the justice to believe, that I am, with 
the most sincere attachment, and most respectful 
esteem, &c. &c. &c. 

"P. S. Dr. Carlysle of Musselburgh, and Dr. 
Wight of Glasgow, acquainted me of your being 
in Scotland. It was from them I learned that my 
name was not wholly unknown to you." 

In consequence of this letter, Beattie received 
an invitation to Glammis castle ; and a friend- 
ship and correspondence commenced between the 
two poets, which terminated only with the death 
of Gray. The impression which their first meet- 
ing made on our author he thus describes in a 

B 



XVIU MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

letter to Sir William Forbes : — " I am sorry you 
did not see Mr. Gray on his return ; you would 
have been much pleased with him. Setting aside 
his merit as a poet, whieh, however, in my opi- 
nion, is greater than any of his contemporaries can 
boast, in this or in any other nation, I found him 
possessed of the most exact taste, the soundest 
judgment, and the most extensive learning. He 
is happy in a singular facility of expression. His 
conversation abounds in original observations, de- 
livered with no appearance of sententious formal- 
ity, and seeming to arise spontaneously without 
study or premeditation. I passed two very agree- 
able days with him in Glammis, and found him 
as easy in his manners, and as communicative and 
frank, as I could have wished." 

A new edition of our author's Poems came forth 
in 1766. From it a large portion of the pieces 
published in the former collection was rejected ; 
while The Judgment of Paris, the lAnes on the 
Death of Churchill, and one or two copies of 
verses never before printed, supplied the defi- 
ciency. The translation of Addison's Pygmceo- 
^er«wo-mac//'?*a, which concludes the volume, is re- 
markable for its spirited and graceful versification. 

In a letter to Dr. Blacklock, dated 22d Sep- 
tember in the same year, Beattie thus alludes tc 
his great work. The Minstrel: — 

" Not long ago I began a poem in the style 
and stanza of Spenser, in which I propose to give 



MEMOIR OF liKATTIE. xix 

full scope to my inclination, and be either droll 
or pathetic, descriptive or sentimental, tender or 
satirical, as tlie humour strikes me ; for, if I mis- 
take not, tlie manner which I have adopted ad- 
mits equally of all these kinds of composition. I 
have written one hundred and fifty lines, and am 
surprised to find the structure of that comjdicated 
stanza so little troublesome. I was always fond 
of it, for I think it the most harmonious that ever 
was contrived. It admits of more variety of 
pauses than either the couplet or the alternate 
rhyme ; and it concludes with a pomp and ma- 
jesty of sound, which, to my ear, is wonderfully 
delightful. It seems also very well adapted to 
the genius of our language, which, fj'om its irre- 
gularity of inflexion and number of monosyllables, 
abounds in diversified terminations, and conse- 
quently renders our poetry susceptible of an end- 
less variety of legitimate rhymes. But I am so 
far from intending this performance for the press, 
that I am morally certain it never will be finished. 
I shall add a stanza now and then, when I am at 
leisure, and when I have no humour for any other 
amusement ; but I am resolved to write no more 
poetry with a view to publication, till I see some 
dawnings of a poetical taste among the generality 
of readers, of which, however, there is not at pre- 
sent any thing like an appearance." 

Writing to Sir William Forbes, 8th January, 
1767, our author gives an account of the cause 



XX MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

of his composing The Hermit^ tiie most perfect of 
his minor poems : — 

"The favourable reception you gave to my 
little poem, demands my acknowledgments. 1 
aimed at simplicity in the expression, and some- 
thing like uncommonness in the thought ; and I 
own I am not ill pleased with it upon the whole; 
though I am sensible it does not answer the pur- 
pose for which I made it. I wrote it at the de- 
sire of a young lady of this country, who has a 
taste both for poetry and music, and wanted me 
to make words for a Scots tune called ' Pentland 
Hills,' of which she is very fond. The verses cor- 
respond well enough with the measure and sub- 
ject of the tune, but are extremely unsuitable for 
the purpose of a song." * 

To Dr. Blacklock he again writes concerning 
The Minstrel: 

" Aberdeen, 20th May, 1767. 
*'My performance in Spenser's stanza has not 

* I have been told that the poem consisted orij^inally of 
only four stanzas, and that the two beautiful ones witli which 
it now concludes were added, a considerable time after the 
others were written, at the request of Mrs. Carnegie, of Charl- 
ton, near Montrose. This lady, whose maiden name was Scott, 
was authoress of a poem called Dunotier Ckistle, printed in 
the second edition of Colman and Thornton's Poems by 
Eminent Ladies. 

* Pentland Hills', for which Beattie wi-ote The Ilennit, was 
an air composed by Mr, Tytler, of Woodhouselee, in unitation 
of the old Scottish melodies. 



MEMOIR OF liEATTlE. XXI 

advanced a single line these many months. It is 
called *The Minstrel.' The subject was sug- 
gested by a dissertation on the old minstrels 
which is prefixed to a collection of Ballads lately 
published by Dodsley, in three volumes. I pro- 
pose to give an account of the birth, education, 
and adventures of one of those bards ; in which 
I shall have full scope for description, sentiment, 
satire, and even a certain species of humour and 
of pathos, which, in the opinion of my great mas- 
ter are by no means inconsistent, as is evident 
from his works. My hero is to be born in the 
south of Scotland ; which you know was the na- 
tive land of the English minstrels ; I mean of 
those minstrels who travelled into England, and 
supported themselves there by singing their bal- 
lads to the harp. His father is a shepherd. The 
son will have a natural taste for music and the 
beauties of nature ; which, however, languishes 
for want of culture, till in due time he meets with 
a hermit, who gives him some instruction ; but 
endeavours to check his genius for poetry and ad- 
ventures, by representing the happiness of ob- 
scurity and solitude, and the bad reception which 
poetry has met with in almost every age. The 
poor swain acquiesces in this advice, and resolves 
to follow his father's employment; when, on a 
sudden, the country is invaded by the Danes, or 
English borderers, (I know not which,) and he 19 
Btript of all his little fortune, and obliged by n<? 



XXll MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

cessity to commence minstrel. This is all that 1 
have as yet concerted of the plan. I have written 
one hundred and fifty lines, but my hero is not 
yet born, though now in a fair way of being so, 
for his parents are described and married. I know 
not whether I shall ever proceed any farther: 
however, I am not dissatisfied with what I have 
wiitten." 

On the 28th June, 1767, Beattie was married 
at Aberdeen to Miss Mary Dun, only daughter of 
the rector of the Grammar-school in that city ; a 
mutual attachment having for some time existed 
between them. She was a few years younger 
than our author: her person was pleasing, her 
manners were lively ; and she possessed a mo- 
dei-ate share of accomplishments. This union, 
which seemed to promise nothing but happiness 
to Beattie, threw the blight of misery over 
his later years, and undoubtedly contributed to 
shorten his career. The woman whom he had 
selected as a partner for life, inherited from her 
mother the most dreadful of human maladies, — 
insanity ; which, a few years after marriage, dis- 
played itself in strange follies and caprices,* and 
at last brojve forth with such violence, as to render 
her separation from her family absolutely neces- 

* On one occasion, I have been infonned, she took some 
ciiina jars from the chimney-piece, and carefully arranged 
them on the top of the parlour door, in order that when Beattie 
opened it, they might fall upon his head. 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. XXIU 

sary. By tliis lady he had two sons, of vvhora 
particular mention will be made hereafter. 

Beattie now employed himself on the compo- 
sition of his Essay on Truth, a work which was 
to be honoured with such marks of public appro- 
bation as the most sanguine author, in his wildest 
dreams of success, could hardly have anticipated. 
In a letter to Sir William Forbes, dated 17th 
January, 17G8, he says: — 

" I have, for a time, laid aside my favourite 
studies, that I might have leisure to prosecute a 
philosophical inquiry, less amusing indeed than 
poetry and criticism, but not less important. The 
extraordinary success of the sceptical philosophy 
has long filled me with regret. I wish I could 
undeceive mankind in regard to this matter. Per- 
haps this wish is vain : but it can do no harm to 
make the trial. The point I am now labouring 
to prove, is the universality and immutability of 
moral sentiment, — a point which has been brought 
into dispute, both by the friends and by the ene- 
mies of virtue. In an age less licentious in its 
principles, it would not, perhaps, be necessary to 
insist much on this point. At present it is very 
necessary. Philosophers have ascribed all reli- 
gion to human policy. Nobody knows how soon 
they may ascribe all morality to the same origin ; 
and then the foundations of human society, as 
well as of human happiness, will be effectually 



XXIV MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

undermined. To accomplish this end, Hobbes, 
Hume, Mandeville, and even Locke, have la- 
boured ; and, I am sorry to say, from my know- 
ledge of mankind, that their labour has not been 
altogether in vain. Not that the works of these 
philosophers are generally read, or even understood 
by the few who read them. It is not the mode, 
now-a-days, for a man to think for himself; but 
they greedily adopt the conclusions, without any 
concern about the arguments or principles whence 
they proceed ; and they justify their own credu- 
lity by general declamations upon the transcend- 
ent merit of their favourite authors, and the uni- 
versal deference that is paid to their genius and 
learning. If I can prove those authors guilty of 
gross misrepresentations of matters of fact, unac- 
quainted with the human heart, ignorant even of 
their own principles, the dupes of verbal ambi- 
guities, and the votaries of frivolous, though dan- 
gerous philosophy, I shall do some little service 
to the cause of truth ; and all this I will under- 
take to prove in many instances of high import- 
ance." 

During this year, a poem in broad Scotch, en- 
titled The Fortunate Shepherdess, by Alexander 
Ross, schoolmaster, of Lochlee, was printed by 
subscription at Aberdeen ; and in order to excite 
some curiosity about the volume, Beattie good- 
naturedly wrote a copy of verses in the same dia- 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. XXV 

lect, addressed to the author, which appeared in 
the Aberdeen Journal.* 

He thus communicates to Dr. Blacklock his 
motives for attempting the laborious prose work, 
with which he was still occupied : — 

•* Aberdeen, 9th Januan-', 1769. 

*' It was very kind in you to read over my 
* Essay on the Immutability of Moral Sentiment ' 
with so much attention. I wish it deserved any 
part of the high encomium you bestowed on it. 
I flatter myself it will receive considerable im- 
provements from a second transcribing, which I 
intend to begin as soon as I can. Some parts of 
it will be enlarged, and others (perhaps) short- 
ened : the examples from history, and authorities 
from ancient authors, will be more numerous ; it 
will be regularly distributed into chapters and sec- 
tions, and the language will be corrected through- 

♦ Beattie's Verses were printed in the Aberdeen Journal, 
together with an introductory letter in prose also by him, 
signed " Oliver Oldstile." The writer of the Life of Ross, 
in that pleasing compilation, Lives of Scotilsh Poets, 3 vols. 
1822, says : " The author of both productions was generally 
understood to be Dr. Beattie; and they have remained so 
long ascribed to him without contradiction, that there can 
be little doubt of their being from his pen." Part iii. p. 107. 
There is no doubt about the matter; Beattie owns them in a 
letter to Blacklock. — Forbes's Life of Beattie, vol. i. p. 153. 
ed. 1807. The Fortunate Shepherdess is a poem of great 
merit: to the second edition of it (and I believe to all sub- 
sequent editions) Beattie's verses are prefixed. 



XXVI MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

out. The first part, which treats of the perma- 
nency of truth in general, is now in great for- 
wardness ; ninety pages in quarto are finished, 
and materials provided for as many more. The 
design of the whole you will guess from the part 
you have seen. It is to overthrow scepticism, 
and establish conviction in its place ; a conviction 
not in the least favourable to bigotry or prejudice, 
far less to a persecuting spirit ; but such a con- 
viction as produces firmness of mind, and stability 
of principle, in a consistence with moderation, 
candour, and liberal inquiry. If I understand 
my own design, it is certainly this ; whether I 
shall accomplish this design or not, the event only 
will determine. Meantime I go on with cheerful- 
ftess in this intricate and fatiguing study, because 
I would fain hope that it may do some good; 
harm I think it cannot possibly do any. 

" Perhaps you are anxious to know what first 
induced me to write on the subject; I will tell 
you as briefly as I can. In my younger days I 
read chiefly for the sake of amusement, and I 
found myself best amused with the classics, and 
what we call the helles lettres. Metaphysics I 
disliked ; mathematics pleased me better ; but I 
found my mind neither improved nor gratified by 
that study. When Providence allotted me my 
present station, it became incumbent on me to 
read what had been written on the subject of 
morals and human nature ; the works of Locke, 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. XXVll 

Berkeley, and Hume, were celebrated as master- 
pieces in this way ; to them, therefore, I had re- 
course. But, as I began to study them with great 
prejudices in their favour, you will readily con- 
ceive how strangely I was sur[)rised to find them, 
as I thought, replete with absurdities. I pondered 
these absurdities : I weighed the arguments, with 
which I was sometimes not a little confounded ; 
and the result was, that I began at last to suspect 
my own understanding, and to think that I had 
not capacity for such a study. For I could not 
conceive it possible, that the absurdities of these 
authors were so great as they seemed to me to be ; 
otherwise, thought I, the world would never ad- 
mire them so much. About this time some ex- 
cellent antisceptical works made their appear- 
ance, particularly Reid's ' Inquiry into the Hu- 
man Mind.' Then it was that I began to have 
a little more confidence in my own judgment, 
when I found it confirmed by those of whose abi- 
lities I did not entertain the least distrust. I re- 
viewed my authors again, with a very different 
temper of mind. A very little truth will some- 
times enlighten a vast extent of science. I found 
that the sceptical philosophy was not what the 
world imagined it to be, nor what I, following the 
opinion of the world, had hitherto imagined it to 
be, but a frivolous, though dangerous, system of 
verbal subtilty, which it required neither genius, 
nor leal ning, nor taste, nor knowledge of mankind, 



XXVm MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

to be able to put together ; but only a captious 
temper, an irreligious spirit, a moderate command 
of words, and an extraordinary degree of vanity 
and presumption. You will easily perceive that 
I am speaking of this philosophy only in its most 
extravagant state, that is, as it appears in the 
works of Mr. Hume. The more 1 study it, the 
more am I confirmed in this opinion. But while 
I applauded and admired the sagacity of those 
who led me into, or at least encouraged me to pro- 
ceed in, this train of thinking, I was not altogether 
satisfied with them in another respect. I could not 
approve that extraordinary adulation which some 
of them paid to their arch-adversary. I could not 
conceive the propriety of paying compliments to 
a man's heart, at the very time one is proving 
that his aim is to subvert the principles of truth, 
virtue, and religion; nor to his understanding, 
when we are charging him with publishing the 
grossest and most contemptible nonsense. I 
thought I then foresaw, what I have since found 
to happen, that this controversy will be looked 
upon rather as a trial of skill between two logi- 
cians, than as a disquisition in which the best 
interests of mankind were concerned; and that 
the world, especially the fashionable part of it, 
would still be disposed to pay the greatest defer- 
ence to the opinions of him who, even by the 
acknowledgment of his antagonists, was confessed to 
be the best philosopher and the soundest reasoner. 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. XXIX 

All this lias happened, and more. Some, to my cer- 
tain knowledge, have said, that Mr. Hume and 
his adversaries did really act in concert, in order 
mutually to promote the sale of one another's 
works ; as a proof of which, they mention, not 
only the extravagant compliments that pass be- 
tween them, but also the circumstance of Dr. R.* 
and Dr. C.f sending their manuscripts to be pe- 
rused and corrected by Mr. Hume before they 
gave them to the press. I, who know both the 
men, am very sensible of the gross falsehood of 
these reports. As to the affair of the manuscripts, 
it was, I am convinced, candour and modesty that 
induced them to it. But the world knows no such 
thing ; and, therefore, may be excused for mis- 
taking the meaning of actions that have really an 
equivocal appearance. I know likewise that they 
are sincere, not only in the detestation they ex- 
press for Mr. Hume's irreligious tenets, but also 
in the compliments they have paid to his talents ; 
for they both look upon him as an extraordinary 
genius ; a point in which I cannot agree with 
them. But while I thus vindicate them from im- 
putations, which the world, from its ignorance of 
circumstances, has laid to their charge, I cannot 
approve them in every thing ; I wish they had 
carried their researches a little farther, and ex- 
pressed themselves with a little more firmness 

* Dr. Reid. t Dr. Campbell. 



XXX MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

and spirit. For well I know, that their works, for 
want of this, will never produce that effect which 
(if all mankind were cool metaphysical reasoners) 
might be expected from them. There is another 
thing in which my judgment differs considerably 
from that of the gentlemen just mentioned. They 
Lave great metaphysical abilities, and they love 
the metaphysical sciences. I do not. 1 am 
convinced that this metaphysical spirit is the 
bane of true learning, true taste, and true science ; 
that to it we owe all this modern scepticism and 
atheism ; that it has a bad effect upon the human 
faculties, and tends not a little to sour the temper, 
to subvert good principles, and to disquahfy men 
for the business of life. You will now see wherein 
my views differ from tliose of the other answerers 
of Mr. Hume. I want to show the world, that 
the sceptical philosophy is contradictory to itself, 
and destructive of genuine philosophy, as well as 
of religion and virtue ; that it is in its own na- 
ture so paltry a thing (however it may have been 
celebrated by some,) that to be despised it needs 
only to be known ; that no degree of genius is 
necessary to qualify a man for making a figure in 
this pretended science ; but rather a certain mi- 
nuteness and suspiciousness of mind, and want 
of sensibility, the very reverse of true intellectual 
excellence ; that metaphysics cannot possibly do 
any good, but may do, and actually have done, 
much harm ; that sceptical philosophers, whatever 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. XXXI 

they may pretend, are the corrupters of science, 
the pests of society, and the enemies of mankind. 
I want to show, that the same method of reason- 
ing, which these people have adopted in their 
books, if transferred into common life, would show 
them to be destitute of common sense ; that true 
philosophers follow a different method of reason- 
ing : and that, without following a different method, 
no truth can be discovered. I want to lay before 
the public, in as strong a light as possible, the 
following dilemma: our sceptics either believe 
the doctrines they publish, or they do not believe 
them : if they believe them, they are fools — if 
not, they are a thousand times worse. I want 
also to fortify the mind against the sceptical 
poison, and to propose certain criteria of mo- 
ral truth, by which some of the most dangerous 
sceptical errors may be detected and guarded 
against. 

" You are sensible, that, in order to attam 
these ends, it is absolutely necessary for me to 
use great plainness of speech. My expressions 
must not be so tame as to seem to imply eitlier a 
diffidence in my principles, or a coldness towards 
tlie cause I have undertaken to defend. And 
where is the man who can blame me for speak- 
ing from the heart, and therefore speaking with 
warmth, when I appear in the cause of truth, re- 
ligion, virtue, and mankind ? I am sure my dear 
friend Dr. Blacklock will not ; he, who has set 



XXXll MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

before me so many examples of this laudable ar- 
dour ; he, whose style I should be proud to take 
for my model, if I were not aware of the diffi- 
culty, I may say, the insuperable difficulty, of 
imitating it with success. You need not fear, 
however, that I expose myself by an excess of 
passion or petulance. I hope I shall be ani- 
mated, without losing my temper, and keen, with- 
out injury to good manners. In a word, I will be 
as soft and delicate as the subject and my con- 
science will allow. One gentleman, a friend of 
yours,* I shall have occasion to treat with much 
freedom. I have heard of his virtues. I know 
he has many virtues ; God forbid I should ever 
seek to lessen them, or wish them to be found 
insincere. I hope they are sincere, and that they 
will increase in number and merit every day. To 
his virtues I shall do justice ; but I must also do 
justice to his faults, at least to those faults which 
are public, and which, for the sake of truth and 
of mankind, ought not to be concealed or dis- 
guised. Personal reflections will be carefully 
avoided ; I hope I am in no danger of^alling into 
them, for I bear no personal animosity against 
any man whatsoever : sometimes I may perhaps 
be keen ; but I trust I shall never depart from 
the Christian and philosophic character. 

* Mr. Hume, who at an early period had been the patron 
of Blacklock. Long before the date of this letter they had 
ceased to have any intercourse. 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. XXXlll 

"A scheme like this of mine cannot be popu- 
lar, far less can it be lucrative. It will raise me 
enemies ; it will expose me to tlie scrutiny of the 
most rigid criticism ; it will make me be consi- 
dered by many as a sullen and illiberal bigot. I 
trust, however, in Providence, and in the goodness 
of my cause, that my attempts in behalf of truth 
shall not be altogether ineffectual, and that my 
labours shall be attended with some utility to my 
fellow-creatures. This, in my estimation, will do 
much more than counterbalance all the inconven- 
iences I have any reason to apprehend. I have 
already fallen on evil tongues (as Milton says) on 
account of this intended publication. It has 
been reported, that I had written a most scur- 
rilous paper against Mr. Hume, and was pre- 
paring to publish it when a friend of mine inter- 
posed, and, with very great difficulty, prevailed 
on me to suppress it, because he knew it would 
hurt or ruin my character. Such is the treatment 
I have to expect from one set of people. I was 
so provoked when I first heard this calumny that 
I deliberated whether I should not throw my pa- 
pers into the fire, with a Si populus viilt decipi, 
decipiatur : but I rejected that thought; for so 
many persons have told me, that it was my duty 
to publish these papers, that I almost began to 
think so myself. Many have urged me to pub- 
lish them ; none ever dissuaded me. The gentle- 
man, named in the report, read the essay, and re- 
C 



XXXIV ME3I0IR OF BEATTIE. 

turned it with the highest commendations ; but 
I do not I'ecollect tliat he ever spoke a syllable 
about publisliing or suppressing it. But I have 
certainly tired you with so long a detail, about 
so trifling a matter as my works. However, I 
thought it necessary to say something by way of 
apology for them, for I find that your good opi- 
nion is of too much consequence to my peace, 
to suffer me to neglect any opportunity of culti- 
vating it." 

The Essay on Truth being now finished, our 
author was desirous of selling the MS. to some 
bookseller, in order that he might avoid all risk 
to himself in the publication, and intrusted the 
care of this matter to Sir William Forbes and 
Mr. Arbuthnot. His two friends, however, hav- 
ing applied to the bookseller, whom they imagined 
the most proper person to publish the work, were 
vexed by his positive refusal to purchase it, al- 
though he had no objection to print it on Beattie's 
account. In this difiiculty they generously re- 
solved to become themselves the purchasers of 
the first edition. " I therefore," says Sir WiUiam 
Forbes, " wrote to him [Beattie] (nothing surely 
but the truth, although, I confess, not the whole 
truth,) that the manuscript was sold for fifty gui- 
neas, which I remitted to him by a bank bill ; and 
I added, that we had stipulated with the book- 
eeller who was to print the book, that we should 
be partners in the publication." 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. XXXV 

At length in May, 1770, the Essay on Truth 
was given to the world. As it had been seen in 
manuscript by several eminent literary charac- 
ters, and as it was understood to be a dii'oct at- 
tack on the philosophy of Hume (who was then 
in the height of his popularity,) its ap})earance 
excited immediate notice. It has been said, 
that on its publication, Hume spoke of Beattie 
with great bitterness, complaining (and 1 am 
forced to allow that there was some cau.se for the 
complaint) that he had not used him like a gen- 
tleman : it has even been asserted that he could 
not endure the name of our author to be men- 
tioned in his presence. I suspect that in all this 
there is great exaggeration. The placid temper 
of Hume was not likely to be much ruffled by 
any thing that might be written against his sys- 
tem ; his friends and admirers were probably 
more disturbed by the attack than the philoso- 
pher himself. In less than four years five large 
editions of the Essay were circulated, and trans- 
lations of it were made into French and oth= 
foreign languages. 

From the rugged paths of philosophy Beattie 
turned once more into the flowery walks of poesy. 
In 1771, the First Book of The Minstrel was pub- 
lished without the author's name. Its success was 
complete. The voice of every critic was loud in 
its praise ; and before the Second Book appeared 
(in 1774), four editions of the First had been 



XXXVl MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

dispersed throughout the kingdom. The follow- 
ing elegant and touching encomium was passed 
upon the poem by Lord Lyttelton, in a letter to 
Mrs. Montagu, who had put the First Book into 
the hands of that virtuous nobleman : 

"Hill Street, 8th March, 1771. 
" I READ your ' Minstrel ' last night, with as 
much rapture as poetry, in her noblest, sweetest 
charms, ever raised in my soul. It seemed to me 
that my once most beloved minstrel, Thomson, 
was come down from heaven, refined by the con- 
verse of purer spirits than those he lived with 
here, to let me hear him sing again the beauties 
of nature, and the finest feelings of virtue, not 
with human, but with angelic strains! I beg 
you to express my gratitude to the poet for the 
pleasure he has given me." 

Of the same date with the preceding letter, 
Beattie received one from Gray, containing many 
minute remarks on his poem. As it consists al- 
most entirely of verbal criticism, it scarcely admits 
of quotation : a single short extract may however 
be given from it : 

''St. 11. how canst thou renounce* &c. 



* " how canst thou renounce the boundless store 
Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! 
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, 
The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields; 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. XXXVII 

But this, of all others, is my favourite stanza. 
It is true poetry ; it is inspiration ; only (to show 
it is mortal) there is one blemish ; the word 
gumiture suggesting an idea of dress, and, what 
is worse, of French dress." 

When the poem was reprinted, one or two 
slight alterations were made in deference to the 
opinion of Gray. 

In a letter to the Dowager Lady Forbes, 12th 
October, 1772, our author confesses that in the 
cliaracter of Edwin he meant to paint himself: 

" From the questions your Ladyship is pleased 
to propose in the conclusion of your letter, as 
well as from some things I have had the honour 
to hear you advance in conversation, I find you 
are willing to suppose that, in Edwin, I have 
given only a picture of myself, as I was in my 
younger days. I confess the supposition is not 
groundless. I have made him take pleasure in 
the scenes in which I took pleasure, and enter- 
tain sentiments similar to those of which, even in 
my early youth, I had repeated experience. The 
scenery of a mountainous country, the ocean, the 

All that the genial ray of morning gilds, 

And all that echoes to the song of even, 

All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, 

And all the dread magnificence of Heaven, — 

how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven ! " 

" I have often wished," says Beattie, in a note on Gray's 
letter, " to alter this same word {fjarnitur^X^ but have not yet 
been able to hit upon a better." 



XXXVm MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

sky, thouglitfulness and retirement, and some- 
times melancholy objects and ideas, had charms 
in my eyes, even when I was a schoolboy ; and 
at a time when I was so far from being able to 
express, that I did not understand my own feel- 
ings, or perceive the tendency of such pursuits 
and amusements; and as to poetry and music, 
before I was ten years old I could play a little 
on the violin, and was as much master of Homer 
and Virgil as Pope's and Dryden's translations 
could make me." 

The intense thought which Beattie had devoted 
to the composition of the Essay on Truth having 
materially injured his health, he was advised by his 
physicians to try the remedy of change of scene. 
He accordingly set out on a journey to London, 
and arrived there in the beginning of autumn, 
1771. He was no longer the obscure individual 
who had visited it in 1763 ;* he was now the tri- 
umphant adversary of scepticism, and the author 
of the admired Minstrel; a man whom the most 
distinguished characters in the literary and fashion- 
able world were prepared to treat with attention 
and respect. Among several letters of introduc- 
tion which he carried with him, was one from 
Dr. Gregory, of Edinburgh, to Mrs. Montagu. 
At the splendid and hospitable mansion of this 
celebrated lady, Beattie became acquainted with 
various persons, both male and female, who were 

* See p. XV. 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. XXXIS 

then the chief ornaments of London society ; and 
he used to dwell with delight on the recollections 
of her more private parties, made up of Lord 
Lyttelton, Mrs. Carter, and a few others, who 
spent their evenings in the most unreserved con- 
versation on literary, moral, or religious subjects. 
From this time, Mrs. Montagu continued to be 
one of his firmest friends ; and their epistolary 
correspondence closed only with her life. The 
politeness and kindness of Hawkes worth, Arm- 
strong, Garrick, and Johnson, also contributed 
much to render- pleasant his visit to the metropolis. 
Concerning the last illustrious man he writes 
thus : " Johnson has been greatly misrepresented. 
I have passed several entire days with him, and 
found him extremely agreeable. The compli- 
ments he pays to my writings are so high that I 
have not the face to mention them." In Decem- 
ber Beattie had returned to Aberdeen. 

In 1772, his mother died, at the advanced age 
of fourscore, at the house of her affectionate son 
David, in the neighbourhood of Laurencekirk. 

Towards the end of April, 1773, Beattie, ac- 
companied by his wife, set out again for London. 
This journey was undertaken partly for the sake 
of his health and partly with a view to another 
object — the bettering of his circumstances. The 
emolument which lie had derived from his writings 
bore unfortunately no proportion to the fame he 
had acquired ; and the small income arising from 



Xl MEMOIR OF BKATTIE. 

his professorship afforded him the only means for 
supporting his family. During his former visit 
to the capital, in 1771, his English friends had 
been very desirous to procure for him some per- 
manent provision ; and it was well known that 
his Majesty had expressed approbation of his 
writings, and had even declared his intention of 
conferring some reward on the man who had 
laboured so successfully to advance the interests 
ofrehgion. With several important letters of 
introduction — one addressed to the Earl of Dart- 
mouth — he now arrived in London, and was 
cordially welcomed by Mrs. Montagu, and his 
other friends. His reception by Lord Dartmouth 
was kind and courteous : soon after which, being 
summoned to wait on Lord North, he was told by 
that minister that an early opportunity should be 
taken to inform his Majesty of his arrival. 

By some of his friends it had been suggested 
that Beattie should take orders, and enter the 
English church ; but this mode of improving his 
fortunes he very properly rejected.* At last, by 

* At a subsequent period, after the king had granted him 
a pension, he received two offers of chui'ch prefeniient in 
England — the one from Mr. Pitt, of Dorsetshire, of a living 
in that county worth £150 per annum, the other from Dr. 
Thomas, Bishop of Winchester, of a living in Hants, valued 
at £500 a year — neither of which he would accept. In the 
letter wherein he declines the second noble offer, he thus 
expresses himself: 

" I wrote the ' Essay on Truth ' with tlic certain prospect 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. xli 

the advice of the Archbishop of York, a memorial 
was drawn up " expressing his services, his wants, 
and his wishes ; " which, having been transmitted 
to Lord Dartmouth, was by him laid before the 
King, who, on that occasion, spoke of Beattie and 
his writings with high approbation, and signified 
a desire to see him. 

Meantime the number of our author's acquaint- 
ances in the metropolis increased daily, and his 
society was eagerly courted by a long list of illus- 
trious names. He now became personally known 
to a distinguished churchman, with whom, during 

of raising many enemies, with very faint hopes of attracting 
the pubHc attention, and without any views of advancing my 
fortune. I published it, however, because I thought it might 
probably do a little good, by bringing to nought, or, at least, 
lessening the reputation of that wretched system of sceptical 
philosophy, which had made a most alarming progress, and 
done incredible mischief to this country. My enemies have 
been at great pains to represent my views, in that publication, 
as very different: and that my principal, or only motive was 
to make a book, and, if possible, to raise myself higher in 
the world. So that, if I were now to accept prefennent in 
the church, I should be apprehensive that I might strengthen 
the hands of the gainsayer, and give the world some ground 
to believe that my love of truth was not quite so ardent, or 
so pure, as I had pretended. 

" Besides, might it not have the appearance of levity and in- 
sincerity, and, by some, be construed into a Avant of principle, 
if I were, at these years (for I am now thirty-eight), to make 
such an important change in my way of hfe, and to quit, 
with no other apparent motive than that of bettering my 
circumstances, that church of which I have hitherto been a 
member? If my book has any tendency to do good, as I 



jdii MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

the preceding year he had held some correspond 
ence by letter — Dr. Porteus, then Rector of 
Lambetli, and finally Bishop of London ; and the 
friendship which took place between them was 
sincere and lasting. 

At the first levee, Beattie was presented by 
Ijord Dartmouth to his Majesty, who for several 
minutes talked to him concerning his Essay on 
Truth in the most condescending and affable 
manner. 

Soon after this, the University of Oxford, at 
the installation of Lord North as its Chancellor, 
conferred on our author a very flattering mark 



flatter myself it has, I would not, for the wealth of the Indies, 
do any thing to counteract that tendency ; and I am afraid 
that tendency might, in some measure, be counteracted (at 
least in this country), if I were to give the adversary the 
least ground to charge me with inconsistency. It is true, 
that the force of my reasonings cannot be really affected by 
my character; truth is truth, whoever be the speaker; but 
even truth itself becomes less respectable, when spoken, or 
supposed to be spoken, by insincere lips. 

" It has also been hinted to me, by several persons of very 
sound judgment, that what I have written, or may hereafter 
write in favour of religion, has a chance of being more 
attended to, if I continue a layman, than if I were to become 
a clergyman. Nor am I without apprehensions (though some 
of my friends think them ill founded) that, from entering so 
late in life, and from so remote a province, into the Church 
of England, some degree of ungracefulness, particularly in 
pronunciation, might adhere to my performances in public, 
BuflBcient to render them less pleasing, and consequently less 
ueeful." 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. xliii 

uf distinction, an honorary degree of Doctor of 
Laws. 

At lenglli the object of his wishes was attained. 
Oa the 20th of August, he received an official 
letter from the secretary of Lord North, informing 
him that the King had been pleased to allow him 
a pension of two hundred pounds a year. Of the 
private interview with which, a few days after, 
lie was honoured by their Majesties, he has left 
t'.ie following account in his Diary : 

" Tuesday^ 24th August, set out for Dr. Majen- 
die's at Kew-Green. The Doctor told me that 
he had not seen the King yesterday, but had left 
a note in writing, to intimate that I was to be at 
his house to-day ; and that one of the King's 
pages had come to him this morning, to say ' that 
his Majesty would see me a little after twelve.' 
At twelve, the Doctor and I went to the King's 
house, at Kew. We had been only a few minutes 
in the hall, when the King and Queen came in 
from an airing ; and, as they passed through the 
hall, the King called to me by name, and asked 
how long it was since I came from town. I 
answered, about an hour. 'I shall see you,' 
says he, * in a little.' The Doctor and I waited 
a considerable time (for the King was busy), 
and then we were called into a large room, 
furnished as a library, where the King was walk- 
ing about, and the Queen sitting in a chair. We 
were received in the most gracious manner pos- 



Xliv MEMOIR OF BEATTJE. 

sible by both their Majesties. I had the honour 
of a conversation with them (nobody else being 
present but Dr. Majendie) for upwards of an 
hour, on a great variety of topics ; in which both 
the King and Queen joined, with a degree of 
cheerfuhiess, affabihty, and ease, that was to me 
surprising, and soon dissipated the embarrass- 
ment which I felt at the beginning of the con- 
ference. They both comphmented me, in the 
highest terms, on my ' Essay,* which, they said, 
was a book they always kept by them ; and the 
King said he had one copy of it at Kew, and 
another in town, and immediately went and took 
it down from a shelf. I found it was the second 
edition. ' I never stole a book but one,' said his 
Majesty, ' and that was yours (speaking to me) ; 
I stole it from the Queen, to give it to Lord 
Hertford to read.' He had heard that the sale 
of Hume's ' Essays ' had failed, since my book 
was published ; and I told him what Mr. Strahan 
had told me, in regard to that matter. He had 
even heard of my being in Edinburgh last sum- 
mer, and how Mr. Hume was offended on the 
score of my book. He asked many questions 
about the second part of the ' Essay,' and when 
it would be ready for the press. I gave him, in 
a short si)eech, an account of the plan of it ; and 
said, my health was so precarious, I could not 
tell when it might be ready, as I had many books 
to consult before I could finish it ; but, that if 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. xlv 

my health were good, I thought I might bring it 
to a conclusion in two or three years. He asked, 
how long I had been in composing my Essay ; 
praised the caution with which it was written ; 
and said he did not wonder that it had employed 
me five or six years. He asked about my poems. 
I said there was only one poem of my own on 
which I set any value (meaning the ' Minstrel'), 
and that it was first published about the same 
time with the ' Essay.' My other poems, I said, 
were incorrect, being but juvenile pieces, and of 
little consequence, even in my own opinion. 
We had much conversation on moral subjects; 
from which both their Majesties let it appear 
that they were warm friends to Christianity ; and 
so little inclined to infidelity, that they could 
hardly believe that any thinking man could really 
be an atheist, unless he could bring himself to 
believe that he made himself; a thought which 
pleased the King exceedingly ; and he repeated 
it several times to the Queen. He asked, whe- 
ther any thing had been written against me. I 
spoke of tlie late pamphlet, of which I gave an 
account, telling him, that 1 never had met with 
any man who had read it, except one Quaker. 
This brought on some discourse about the Quak- 
ers, whose moderation and mild behaviour the 
King and Queen commended. I was asked many 
questions about the Scots universities ; the reve- 
nues of the Scots clergy ; their mode of praying 



Xlvi MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

and preaching ; the medical college of Edinburgh ; 
Dr. Gregory (of whom I gave a particular cha- 
racter), and Dr. Cullen ; the length of our vaca- 
tion at Aberdeen, and the closeness of our attend- 
ance during the winter ; the number of students 
that attend my lectures ; my mode of lecturing, 
whether from notes, or completely written lectures ; 
about Mr. Hume, and Dr. Robertson, and Lord 
Kinnoull, and the Archbishop of York, &c. &c. 
&c. His Majesty asked what I thought of my 
new acquaintance. Lord Dartmouth ? I said there 
was something in his air and manner which I 
thought not only agreeable, but enchanting, and 
that he seemed to me to be one of the best of 
men ; a sentiment in which both their Majesties 
heartily joined. ' They say that Lord Dartmouth 
is an enthusiast,' said the King, ' but surely he 
says nothing on the subject of religion, but what 
every Christian may, and ought to say.' He ask- 
ed, whether I did not think the English language 
on the decline at present? I answered in the 
affirmative ; and the King agreed, and named the 
* Spectator ' as one of the best standards of the 
language. When I told him that the Scots clergy 
sometimes prayed a quarter, or even half an hour 
at a time, he asked whether that did not letwl them 
into repetitions ? I said, it often did. ' That/ 
said he, ' I don't like in prayers ; and excellent as 
our liturgy is, I think it somewhat faulty in that 
respect.' ' Your majesty knows,' said I, * that 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. xlvii 

three services are joined in one in the ordinary 
church service, which is one cause of those repe- 
titions.' ' True,' he rephed, ' and that circumstance 
also makes the service too long.' From this he 
took occasion to speak of the composition of the 
churcli liturgy ; on which he very justly bestow- 
ed the highest commendation. ' Observe,' his 
Majesty said, ' how flat those occasional prayers 
are, that are now composed, in comparison with 
the old ones.' When I mentioned the smallness 
of the churcli livings in Scotland, he said, ' he won- 
dered how men of liberal education would choose 
to become clergymen there ; ' and asked, ' whether 
in the remote parts of the country, the clergy, in 
general were not very ignorant ? ' I answered, 
' No, for that education was very cheap in Scot- 
land, and that the clergy, in general, were men of 
good sense, and competent learning.' He asked 
whether we had any good preachers at Aberdeen ? 
I said, yes, and named Campbell and Gerard, 
with whose names, however, I did not find that he 
was acquainted. Dr. Majendie mentioned Dr. 
Oswald's 'Appeal ' with commendation ; I praised 
it too, and the queen took down the name, with a 
view to send for it. I was asked, whether I knew 
Dr. Oswald ? I answered, I did not ; and said 
that my book was published before 1 read his ; 
that Dr. 0. was well known to Lord Kinnoull, 
who had often proposed to make us acquainted. 
We discussed a great many other topics ; for the 



Xlviii MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

conversation, as before observed, lasted for up- 
wards of an hour, without any intermission. The 
Queen bore a large share in it. Both the King 
and her Majesty showed a great deal of good sense, 
acuteness, and knowledge, as well as of good na- 
ture and afFabihty. At last the king took out his 
watcli (for it was now almost three o'clock, his 
hour of dinner), which Dr. Majendie and I took 
as a signal to withdraw. We accordingly bowed 
to their Majesties, and I addressed the King in 
these words : ' I hope. Sir, your Majesty will 
pardon me, if I take this opportunity to return 
you ray humble and most grateful acknowledg- 
ments for the honour you have been pleased to 
confer upon me.' He immediately answered, ' I 
think I could do no less for a man who has done 
so much service to the cause of Christianity. I 
shall always be glad of an opportunity to show 
the good opinion I have of you.' The Queen 
sate all the while, and the King stood, sometimes 
walking about a little. Her Majesty speaks the 
English language with surprising elegance, and 
little or nothing of a foreign accent. There is 
something wonderfully captivating in her man- 
ner ; so that if she were only of the rank of a 
private gentlewoman, one could not help taking 
notice of her, as one of the most agreeable women 
in the world. Her ikce is much more pleasing 
than any of her pictures ; and in the expression 
of her eyes, and in her smile, there is something 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. xlix 

peculiarly engaging. When the Doctor and T 
came out, ' Pray,' said I, ' how did I behave ? 
Tell me honestly, for I am not accustomed to 
conversations of this kind.' ' Why, i)erfectly well,' 
answered he, ' and just as you ought to do.' 'Are 
you sure of that?' said I. 'As sure,' he replied, 
' as of my own existence: and you may be assured 
of it too, when I tell you, that if tliere had been 
any thing in your manner or conversation which 
was not perfectly agreeable, your conference 
would have been at an end in eight or ten mi- 
nutes at most.' The Doctor afterwards told me, 
that it was a most uncommon thing for a private 
man, and a commoner, to be honoured with so 
long an audience. I dined with Dr. and Mrs. 
Majendie, and their family, and returned to town 
in the evening, very much pleased with the occur- 
rences of the day." 

At this time. Sir Joshua Reynolds, having re- 
quested Beattie to sit for his picture, produced 
a likeness of him which is generally regarded as 
one of the finest works of that admirable artist. 
He is represented in his Oxford gown of Doctor 
of Laws, with his famous Essay under liis arm ; 
while beside him is Truth, habited as an Angel, 
holding in one hand a pair of scales, and with 
the other thrusting down three frightful figures, 
emblematic of Prejudice, Scepticism, and Folly.* 

* So Beattie names the figures in one of his letters; 
but Sir William Forbes tells us they are supposed to mean 
I) 



1 MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

Of this picture Sir Joshua made a present to 
Beattie, who set a due value on so noble a com- 
position, and preserved it with the utmost care. 

After an absence of a little more than five 
months, he returned to Aberdeen. 

A striking proof how highly the character and 
talents of Beattie were appreciated, even by those 
to whom he was personally unknown, occurred in 
October of this year (1773), when the chair of 
Moral Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh 
was offered to him by the electors, the magistrates 
of the city. He, however, declined accepting it, 
" Though my fortune " (he writes to Sir William 
Forbes, on the subject) " were as narrow now as 
it lately was, I should still incline rather to re- 

SopliLstry, Scepticism, and Infidelity. The worthy Baronet 
proceeds to observe : 

" Because one of these was a lean figure and the [an] other 
a fat one, people of lively imaginations pleased themselves 
with finding in them the portraits of Voltaire and Mr. Hume. 
But Sir Joshua, I have reason to believe, had no such thought 
when he painted those figures." 

Surely Sir William had never read all the letters which he 
printed in his Lift of Beattie, for in vol. ii. p. 42, octavo ed., 
we find the great painter writing to our poet as follows, in 
February, 1774: 

" Mr. Hume has heard from somebody that he is introduced 
in the picture, not much to his credit: there is only a figure, 
covering his face with his hands, which they may call Hume 
or any body else; it is fr'ue it has a tolerable broad back. As 
for Voltaire, [intended lie should be one of the (jrmip.'" 

This fine picture is now at Aberdeen, in the possession 
of Beattie's niece, Mrs. Glennie. 



MEMOIR OF BliATTIE. U 

main in quiet where I am, than, by becoming a 
member of the University of Edinburgh, to place 
myself within the reach of those (few as they are) 
who have been pleased to let the world know that 
they do not wish me well." He alludes to the 
enemies whom his Essay on Truth had raised up. 

The Second Book of The Minstrel, together 
with a new and corrected edition of the First, 
appeared in 1774, the author's name being now 
added. The poem, thus enlarged, suffered no 
diminution of its popularity. 

The following year, Beattie and his wife spent 
several weeks in London, residing during the 
chief part of the time with Dr. Porteus, one of 
his kindest and most zealous friends. On this 
occasion, having shown himself at court, he was 
immediately recognized by the King, who spoke to 
him very graciously, and made several inquiries 
concerning his studies. 

To a new and improved edition in quarto, of 
the Essay on Truth, printed by subscription,* in 



* When Beattie was in London, in 1773, and when it wtis 
doubtful whether government would ever make any provision 
for him, his friends there set on foot a subscription for this work. 
" It was a thing," says he, in a letter to Lady Mayne, January, 
1774, "of a private nature entirely; projected not by me, 
but by some of my friends, who had condescended to charge 
themselves with the whole trouble of it : it was never meant 
to be made public, nor put into the hands of booksellers, 
nor earned on by solicitation, but was to be considered as a 
voluntary mark of the approbation of some persons of rank 



lii MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

1776, our author appended tliiee other Essays: 
On Poetry and Music, as they affect the Mind, 
On Laughter and Ludicrous Composition, and 
On the Utility of Classical Learning. In 1117 * 
he gave to the press a new edition of The Minstrel, 
to which he added a few of his minor poems: 
this volume (he says in the preface) contains 
"all the verses of which I am wiUing to be 
considered as the author." In 1778,t he printed 
for private circulation a Letter to Dr. Blair, on 
the improvement of Psalmody in Scotland , In 

1779, he published, for the use of the young men 
who attended his Lectures, a List of Scotticisms, 
to the amount of about two hundred. And in 

1780, he contributed some thoughts On Dreaming 
to the well known periodical paper, The Mirror. 

The following portion of a letter from Dr. 
Johnson to Beattie shows how sincerely our 
author was esteemed by the great moralist: 



and fortune, who wished it to be known that they patronized 
me on account of what I had written in defence of truth," 
&c. Prefixed to the volume is a hst of nearly five hundred 
subscribers, among whom are many distinguished characters 
in church and state. 

* A spurious edition of his Juvenile Poems, with some 
■which he never wrote, from Dodsley's Collection, was put 
forth in 1780. This volume he disowned in a public ad- 
vertisement. 

t Perhaps it was not printed till the beginning of the Ibl 
lowing year. In a letter to Beattie, dated Feb. 1st, 1779, Mrs. 
Montagu says, " I was much pleased with your pamphlet on 
Psalmody." 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. llU 

" Bolt Court, Fleet Street, 21st August, 1780. 
" More years than 1 have any delight to reckon 
have past since you and I saw one another. Of 
this, however, there is no reason for making any 
reprehensory complmnt, sic fata fei-unt : but, me- 
thinks, there might pass some small interchange 
of regard between us. If you say that I ought 
to have written, I now write ; and I write to tell 
you, that I have much kindness for you and Mrs. 
Beattie, and that I wish your health better, and 
your life long. Try change of air, and come a 
few degrees southward ; a softer climate may do 
you both good. Winter is coming on, and London 
will be warmer, and gayer, and busier, and more 
fertile of amusement than Aberdeen." 

In 1781, Beattie made another journey to 
London, taking with him his eldest son, James 
Hay Beattie.* While there, we find him writing 
thus to Sir William Forbes : 

" 1st June. 
" I have been visiting all my friends again and 
again, and found them as affectionate and attentive 
as ever. Death has indeed deprived me of some 
since I was last here, of Garrick, and Armstrong, 
and poor Harry Smith ; but I have still many 
left." "Johnson grows in grace as he 

* He was born in 1768, and was named after James Hay, 
Earl of Errol, our author's early patron. 



liv MEMOIR OF liEATTIE. 

grows ill years. He not only has better health 
and a fresher complexion than ever he had be- 
fore (at least since I knew him), but he has 
contracted a gentleness of manners which pleases 
every body." 

" 28th June. 
" I thought it my duty to appear at the levee 
before I left London ; and accordingly the week 
before last I went to court. The king had not 
seen me for six years, and yet, to my surprise, 
knew me at first sight. He sjioke to me with his 
wonted condescension and aifability ; and paid me 
a very polite compliment on the subject of my 
writings." 

His Dissertations, Moral and Critical, w-ere 
published in 1783. 

A passage from a letter of the poet Cowper to 
the Rev. William Unwin, 5th April, 1784,* must 
not be omitted here : 

" If you have not his poem, called the ' The 
Minstrel,' and cannot borrow it, I must beg you 

* Writing from Edinburgh, 28th May, 1784, to his niece, 
Miss Valentine (now Mrs. Glennie), Beattie describes the 
sensation caused in that city by the performances of Mrs. 
Siddons. He says that he met her at tlie house of Lord 
Buchan; that he played to her many Scotch airs on the 
violoncello, -with which she was much gratified; and that 
"she sung ' Queen Mary's Complaint' to admiration, and I 
had the honour to accompany her on the bass." — Forbes's 
Life of Beattie^ vol. ii. p. 324, octavo ed. 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. Iv 

to buy it for me ; for, though I cannot afford to 
deal largely in so expensive a commodity as 
books, I must afford to purchase at least the 
poetical works of Beattie." 

His health impaired, and his peace of mind 
destroyed, by the melancholy condition of his 
wife (who, labouring under confirmed insanity, 
was now removed from her family), we need not 
wonder that Beattie should endeavour to forget 
his domestic griefs in the society of his English 
friends, to whom he was ever welcome. During 
the year 1784, after passing some time in London, 
he spent a month with Dr. Porteus (who had 
now attained the rank of Bishop of Chester), at 
the beautiful parsonage of Hunton, near Maid- 
stone, which he characterizes as " the mansion of 
peace, piety, and cheerfulness." He also visited 



I am informed, by the incomparable actress in question, 
tliat the quotation just given contains an utter falsehood, 
which, when Forbes's Life of our author first appeared, in 
1806, she read with astonishment. She remembers perfectly 
having been introduced to Beattie at Lord Buchan's, but 
she is quite certain siie did not sing either Queen Mary's 
Complaint or any other song ; and she observes, that if she 
kad sung to his accompaniment, the circumstance would 
have been so striking that it could not possibly have esoaped 
her recollection. 

Qy. Has Beattie's letter been mutilated, the person who 
transcribed it for the press having by mistake omitted some 
lines V and do the words "she sung," in the concluding 
sentence, refer to some other more musical lady, and not to 
Mrs. SiddonsV 



Ivi MEMOIK OF BEATTIE. 

Mrs. Montagu, at her seat, called Sandleford, in 
Berks. 

In 1786, his Evidences of the Christian Reli- 
gion, were published. A remark which he makes 
in a letter, while engaged in the composition of 
this judicious summary, is worth quoting : " Whe- 
ther this work shall ever be of use to others, I 
know not ; but this I know, that it has been of 
considerable benefit to myself. For though, when 
I entered upon it, I understood my subject well 
enough to entertain no doubt of the goodness of 
my cause, yet I find, as I advance, new light 
continually breaking in upon me." 

The receipt of the following letter could hardly 
fail to gratify our author : 

" Philadelphia, 1st August, 1786. 
'*The American revolution, which divided the 
British empire, made no breach in the republic 
of letters. As a proof of this, a stranger to your 
person, and a citizen of a country lately hostile 
to yours, has expressed his obligations to you for 
the knowledge and pleasure he has derived from 
your excellent writings by procuring your ad- 
mission into the American Philosophical Society ; 
a certificate of which, subscribed by our illus- 
trious president. Dr. Franklin, and the other 
officers of the society, you will receive by the 
next vessel that sails to any port in North Britain 
from this city. 



MEMOIU OF BEATTIE. Ivii 

" The stranger alluded to finished his studies 
in medicine in Edinburgh in the year 1769, and 
has ever since taught chemistry and medicine in 
the college of Philadelphia. His name (with the 
greatest respect for yours) is, 

"Benjajiin Rcsn." 

The next year, with his eldest son for his com- 
panion, he repaired again to London. While 
there, he writes thus to his niece, Miss Valentine, 
now Mrs. Glennie : 

" London, 20th July, 1787. 
" I AM just returned from Windsor, where I 
passed three days. I went thither, partly to see 
some friends, but chiefly that I might pay my 
respects to the King and Queen. They both re- 
ceived me in the most gracious manner. I saw 
the King first on the terrace, where he knew me 
at first sight, and did me the honour to converse 
with me a considerable time. Next morning I 
saw him again at prayers in his chapel, where he 
was pleased to introduce me to the Queen, who 
inquired very kindly after my health ; observed, 
that many years had passed since she saw me 
last ; regretted the bad weather which I had met 
with at Windsor (for it rained incessantly), which, 
said she, has made your friends see less of you 
than they wished ; and, after some other conver- 
sation, her Majesty and the Princess Elizabeth, 



Iviii MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

who attended her, made a slight courtesy, and 
stepped into the carriage that waited for them at 
the chapel door. The King remained with us 
for some time longer, and talked of various mat- 
ters." 

Our author then proceeded to visit Dr. Porteus 
at Hunton, and Mrs. Montagu at Sandleford, but 
was obliged to quit the latter place sooner than 
he had intended, on account of the illness of his 
son, who shewed symptoms of that consumptive 
complaint to which he afterwards fell a victim. 
For the sake of medical advice Beattie carried 
him back to the metropolis, and from thence, by 
very easy stages, to Aberdeen. Soon after his 
return to Scotland, the invalid improved so much 
in health that he was able to take upon him 
part of the management of the class of Moral 
Philosophy in the Marischal College, having been 
appointed in June of this year (when he was not 
quite nineteen) assistant professor to his father. 

In 1790, Beattie put forth the first volume of his 
Elements of Moral Science ; and superintended 
an edition of Addison's Periodical Papers, adding 
a few notes to Tickell's Life of that author, and 
to Johnson's Remarks on his Prose Writings. 
The second volume of the Transactions of the 
Royal Society of Edinburgh, published during 
this year, contains ' Remarks on some Passages of 
the Sixth Book of the ^neid,' from Beattie's pen. 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. lix 

He luid now to suffer the dire bereavement 
which he hud long foreseen, the loss of his eldest 
son, the object of his fondest aifection. He thus 
informs the Duchess of Gordon of the melan- 
choly event : 

" Aberdeen, 1st December, 1790. 
" Knowing with what kindness and condescen- 
sion your grace takes an interest in every thing 
that concerns me and my little family, 1 take the 
liberty to inform you, that my son James is dead ; 
that the last duties to him are now paid ; and 
that I am endeavouring to return, with the little 
ability that is left me, and with entire submission 
to the will of Providence, to the ordinary business 
of life. I have lost one who was always a pleas- 
ing companion ; but who, for the last five or six 
years, was one of the most entertaining and 
instructive companions that ever man was blest 
with : for his mind comprehended almost every 
science ; he was a most attentive observer of life 
and manners ; a master of classical learning ; 
and he possessed an exuberance of wit and hu- 
mour, a force of understanding, and a correct- 
ness and delicacy of taste, beyond any other 
person of his age I have ever known. 

" He wa^ taken ill in the night of the 30th of 
November, 1789 ; and from that time his decline 
commenced. It was long what physicians call a 
nervous atrophy ; but towards the end of June, 
symptoms began to appear of the lungs being 



Ix MEMO IK OK BEATTIE. 

affected. Goats' milk, and afterwards asses' milk, 
were procured for him in abundance ; and such 
exercise as he could bear, he regularly took ; 
these means lengthened his days no doubt, and 
alleviated his sufferings, which indeed were not 
often severe: but, in spite of all that could be 
done, he grew weaker and weaker, and died the 
19th of November, 1790, without complaint or 
pain, without even a groan or a sigh ; retaining 
to the last moment the use of his rational facul- 
ties ; indeed, from first to last, not one delirious 
word ever escaj^ed him. He lived twenty-two 
years and thirteen days. Many weeks before it 
came, he saw death approaching, and he met it 
with such composure and pious resignation, as 
may no doubt be equalled, but cannot be sur- 
passed. 

" He has left many things in writing, serious 
and humorous, scientific and miscellaneous, prose 
and verse, Latin and English ; but it will be a 
long time before I shall be able to harden my 
heart so far as to revise them." 

In April of the following year, Beattie again 
travelled southwards, accompanied by Montagu,* 
his second son and only surviving child. They 



* He was so named after Mrs. Montagu. From one of 
Beattie's letters, dated 1789, it appears that she had made a 
handsome present of money to lier godson. 



MEMOllt OF BEATTIE. Ixi 

remained some weeks in Edinburgh, and then 
journeyed slowly to London, which after a short 
stay they quitted for the summer residence of Dr. 
Porteus, who was now elevated to the see of the 
metropolis. The tranquillity of Fulham Palace, 
and the kind attentions of its inhabitants, con- 
tributed greatly to amend the health and raise 
the spirits of our author ; and he seems to have 
enjoyed the company of the distinguished persons 
with whom he had an opportunity of associating. 
" Last week," he writes to Sir William Forbes, 
30th June, 1791, "I made a morning visit to 
Mr. Pitt. I had heard him spoken of as a grave 
and reserved man ; but saw nothing of it. He 
gave me a very frank, and indeed affectionate 
reception ; and was so cheerful, and in his con- 
versation so easy, that I almost thought myself 
in the company rather of an old acquaintance 
than of a great statesman. He was pleased to 
pay me some very obliging compliments, asked 
about my health, and how I meant to pass the 
summer ; spoke of the Duchess of Gordon, the 
im])rovements of Edinburgh, and various other 
matters: and when I told him, I knew not what 
apology to make for intruding upon him, said, 
that no apology was necessary, for that he was 
very glad to see me, and desired to see me again." 
Before returning to Scotland, the travellers went 
to Bath, and from thence to Sandleford, the seat 
of Mrs. Montairu. 



Ixii MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

The second volume of the Elements of Moral 
Science appeared in 1793. During the same 
year the sudden death of his favourite sister, 
Mrs. Valentine, increased the domestic sorrows 
of Beattie. His health was at this period so 
greatly impaired, that being unable to attend to 
his duties of Professor in the Marischal College, 
he engaged his old pupil, Mr. Glenn ie, as an as- 
sistant : occasionally, however, he continued to lec- 
ture to his class till the commencement of the 
winter session of 1797. 

For some time past he had occupied himself in 
the melancholy yet pleasing task of editing a vo- 
lume of the compositions of his eldest son. From 
a pardonable partiality for the writings of a be- 
loved child, and from his not very accurate 
attainments in classical scholarship, he admitted 
into the collection several pieces, both English 
and Latin, which fall considerably below me- 
diocrity. A few copies of the work were privately 
printed in 1794, under the title of Essays and 
Fragments in Prose and Verse, by James Hay 
Beattie, and were " offered as presents to those 
friends with whom the author was particularly 
acquainted or connected." * Though it undoubt- 

* I possess a copy of it Avhich bears the following inscrip- 
tion : 

"To William Hayley, Esq., 

in testimony of the utmost respect, 

esteem, and gratitude, from J. Beattie. 

1st January, 179G." 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. Ixiil 

edly shows that the deceased was a young man 
of uncommon quickness of talent, and the most 
indefatigable application, it exhibits nothing which 
has a claim to be considered as the offspring 
of genius.* The most interesting portion of the 

Ou one of its fly-leaves the ever-ready pen of Hayley has 
written the subjoined sonnet: 

TO DOCTOR BEATTIE, IN GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT OP 
HIS VERY INTERESTING PRESENT. 

" Bard of the North ! I thank tliee with my tears 
For this fond work of thy paternal hand : 
It bids the buried youth before me stand 
In nature's softest light, which love endears. 
Parents like thee, whose grief the world reveres, 
Faithful to pure affection's proud command. 
For a lost child have lasting honoure plann'd, 
To give in fame what fate denied in years. 
The filial form of Icarus was wrought 
By his afflicted sire, the sire of art I 
And TuUia's fane engross'd her father's heart: 
That fane rose only in perturbed thought; 
But sweet perfection crowns, as truth begun, 
This Chi-istian image of thy happier son." 

* It was afterwards published for sale in 1799. I extract 
from it a jeu d'esprit — one of those pieces which Bcattio 
printed, in opposition to the advice of Sir William Forbes 
and some other grave friends. 

THE MODERN TIPPLING PHILOSOPHERS. 

Father Hodge f had his pipe and his dram. 
And at night, his cloy'd thirst to awaken, 
t Roger Bacon, the father of experimental philosophy. He 
flourished in the thirteenth century. 



Ixiv MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

volume is the biographical sketch prefixed to it 
by the afflicted father, a memoir of exquisite 
simplicity and pathos. The account given by 
Beattie of the method which he adopted in im- 

He was served with a rasher of ham, 

Which procured him the surname of Bacon. 

He has shown that, though logical science 
And dry theory oft pnove unhandy, 

Honest Truth will ne'er set at defiance 
Experiment, aided by brandy. 

Des Cartes bore a musket, they tell us, 

Ere he wished, or was able, to write, 
And was noted among the brave fellows, 

Who are bolder to tipple than fight. 
Of his system the cause and design 

We no more can be pos'd to explain: — 
The materia svbtilis was wine. 

And the voriices whirl'd in his brain. 

Old Hobbes, as his name plainly shows. 

At a hob-nob was frequently tried : 
That all virtue from selfishness rose 

He believ'd, and all laughter from pride.* 
The truth of his creed he would brag on. 

Smoke his pipe, murder Homer,t and quaflf, 
Then staring, as drunk as a dragon, 

In the pride of his heart he would laugh. 

Sir Isaac discovered, it seems, 
The nature of colors and light. 



* See The Spectator, No. 47. 

t Hobbes was a great smoker, and wrote what some havo 
been pleased to call a Translation of Homer. 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. IXV 

parting to his son the first idea of a Supreme 
Being is too striking to be omitted here : 

" The doctrines of religion I wished to impress 

In remarking the tremulous beams 

That swam on his wandering sight. 
Ever sapient, sober though seldom, 

From experience attraction he found, 
By observing, when no one upheld him. 

That his wise head fell souse on the ground. 

As to Berkley's philosophy — he has 

Left his poor pupils nought to inherit, 
But a swarm of deceitful ideas 

Kept like other monsters, in spirit* 
Tar-drinkers can't think what's the matter, 

That their health does not mend, but decline : 
Why, they take but some wine to their water, 

He took but some water to wine. 

One Mandeville once, or Man-devil, 

(Either name you may give as you please) 
By a brain ever brooding on evil. 

Hatch' d a monster call'd Fabk of Btes, 
Vice, said he, aggrandizes a people ;t 

By this light let my conduct be view'd; 
I swagger, swear, guzzle, and tipple, 

And d ye, 'tis all for your good. 

David Hume ate a swinging great dinner. 
And grew every day fatter and fatter ; 



• He taught that the external universe has no existence, 
but an ideal one, in the mind (or sptnt) that perceives it; 
and be thought tar-water a universal remedy. 

t Private vices public benefits. 
£ 



Ixvi MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

on his mind, as soon as it might be prepared to 
receive them; but I did not see the propriety 
of making him commit to memory theological 

And yet the huge hulk of a sinner 

Said there was neither spirit nor matter. 

Now there 's no sober man in the nation, 
Who such nonsense could write, speak, or think : 

It follows, by fair demonstration. 
That he philosophiz'd in his drink. 

As a smuggler, even Priestley could sin ; 

Who, in hopes the poor gauger of frightening, 
While he fill'd the case-bottles with gin, 

Swore he fill'd them with thunder and lightning.* 
In his cups (when Locke 's laid on the shelf), 

Could he speak, he would frankly confess t' ye, 
That unable to manage himself, 

He puts his whole trust in Necessity. 

If the young in rash folly engage, 

How closely continues the evil ! 
Old Franklin retains, as a sage. 

The thirst he acquired when a devil. f 
That charging drives fire from a phial, 

It was natural for him to think. 
After finding, from many a trial. 

That drought may be kindled by drink. 

A certain high priest could explain, f 
How the soul is but nerve at the most : 



* Electrical batteries. 

t Bred a printer. This was written long before Dr. Frank- 
lin's death. 

J Dr. L., Bp. of C, is probably the person here alluded to. 
He was a zealous materialist. 



MEMOIR OT BKATTIE. IxvH 

sentences, or any sentences wliieli it was not pos- 
sible for him to understand. And I was desirous 
to make a trial how far liis own reason could go 
in tracing out, with a little direction, the great 
and first principle of all religion, the being of 
God. The following fact is mentioned, not as a 
proof of superior sagacity in him (for I have no 

And how Milton had glands in his braia, ' 

That secreted the Paradise Lost. 
And sure it is what they deserve, 

Of such theories if I aver it. 
They are not even dictates of nerve, 

But mere muddy suggestions of claret. 

Our Holland Philosophers say, Gin 

Is the true philosophical drink. 
As it made Doctor Hartley imagine 

That to shake is the same as to think* 
For, while drunkenness throbb'd in his brain, 

The sturdy materiahst chose (0 fye!) 
To believe its vibrations not pain, 

But wisdom, and -' .wnright philosophy. 

Ye sages, who shine in my verse, 

On my labours with gratitude think. 
Which condemn not the faults they rehearse, 

But impute all your sin to your drink. 
In drink, poets, philosophers, mob, err; 

Then excuse if my satire e'er nips ye : 
When I praise, think me prudent and sober, 

If I blame, be assur'd I am tipsy. 



• He resolved Perception and Thinking into vibrations, and 
(what he called) libi'atiuncks of the brain. 



Ixviii MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

doubt that most children would in like circum- 
stances think as he did), but merely as a moral 
or logical experiment : He had reached his fifth 
(or sixth) year, knew the alphabet, and could 
read a little; but had received no particular 
information with respect to the Author of his 
being; because I thought he could not yet un- 
derstand such information; and because I had 
learned, from my own experience, that to be 
made to repeat words not understood is extremely 
detrimental to the faculties of a young mind. In 
a corner of a little garden, without informing any 
person of the circumstance, I wrote in the mould, 
with my finger, the three initial letters of his 
name ; and sowing garden-cresses in the furrows, 
covered up the seed, and smoothed the ground. 
Ten days after, he came running to me, and with 
astonishment in his countenance, told me that his 
name was growing in the garden. I smiled at 
the report, and seemed inclined to disregard it ; 
but he insisted on my going to see what had 
happened. Yes, said I carelessly, on coming to 
the place, I see it is so ; but there is nothing in 
this worth notice ; it is mere chance ; and I went 
away. He followed me and taking hold of my 
coat, said, with some earnestness. It could not be 
mere chance ; for that somebody must have con- 
trived matters so as to produce it. — I pretend not 
to give his words, or my own, for I have forgotten 
both ; but I give the substance of what passed 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. Ixix 

between us in such language as we both under- 
stood. — So you think, I said, that what appears 
so regular as the letters of your name, cannot be 
by chance. Yes, said he, with firmness, I think 
so. Look at yourself, I replied, and consider 
your hands and fingers, your legs and feet, and 
other limbs ; are not they regular in their ap- 
pearance, and useful to you? He said, they 
were. Came you then hither, said I, by chance ? 
No, he answered, that cannot be ; something 
must have made me. And who is that some- 
thing ? I asked. He said he did not know. (I 
took particular notice, that he did not say, as 
Rousseau fancies a child in like circumstances 
would say, that his parents made him.) I had 
now gained the point I aimed at, and saw that 
his reason taught him (though he could not so 
express it) that what begins to be must have a 
cause, and that what is formed with regularity 
must have an inteUigent cause. I therefore told 
him the name of the Great Being who made him 
and all the world ; concerning whose adorable 
nature I gave him such information as I thought 
he could in some measure comprehend. The 
lesson affected him greatly, and he never forgot 
either it, or the circumstance that introduced it.'* 
After the loss of this highly-gifted youth, the 
only tie which bound Beattie to the world was his 
second son, who, though far inferior to the de- 
ceased in learning, was endowed with no ordinary 



IXX MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

talents.* Just as our author was anxiously 
forming plans for his future establishment in 
life, Montagu was unexpectedly carried off by a 
fever of only a few days' continuance, in the 
eighteenth year of his age. Beattie thus com- 
municates to Sir WilHam Forbes the intelligence 
of his death : 

"Aberdeen, 14th March, 1796. 

"Our plans relating to Montagu are all at an 
end. I am sorry to give you the pain of being 
informed, that he died this morning at five. His 
disorder was a fever, from which at first we had 
little apprehension ; but it cut him off in five 
days. He himself thought from the beginning 
that it would be fatal ; and, before the delirium 
came on, spoke with great composure and Chris- 
tian piety of his approaching dissolution : he even 
gave some directions about his funeral. The de- 
lirium was very violent, and continued till within 
a few minutes of his death, when he was heard to 
repeat in a whisper the Lord's prayer, and began 
an unfinished sentence, of which nothing could 
be heard but the words incorruptible glory. Pious 
sentiments prevailed in his mind through life, and 
did not leave him till death ; nor then, I trust, did 
they leave him. Notwithstanding the extreme 

* " I have been assured by those who were intimately ac- 
quainted with both, that of the two brothers, Montagu waa 
in many respects the superior." 

Bower's Lift of Beattie, 1804, p. 210. 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. Ixxi 

violence of his fever, he seemed to suffer little 
pain, either in body or in mind, and as his end 
drew near, a smile settled upon his countenance. 
I need not tell you that he had every attention 
that skilful and affectionate physicians could be- 
stow. I give you the trouble to notify this event 
to Mr. Arbuthnot. I would have written to him, 
but have many things to mind, and but indiffer- 
ent health. However, I heartily acquiesce in the 
dispensations of Providence, which are all good 
and wise. God bless you and your family. 

" He will be much regretted ; for wherever he 
went he was a very popular character." 

Such an effect liad this fresh calamity on the 
intellectual powers of Beattie, that a few days 
after Montagu's death, he experienced a tempo- 
rary but almost utter loss of memory respecting 
him. Having searched every room in the house, 
he would say to his niece, Mrs. Glennie, " You 
may think it strange, but I must ask you if I 
have a son, and where he is?" She then felt 
herself under the painful necessity of calling to 
his recollection the sufferings of Montagu, the 
mention of which never failed to restore him to 
reason. Often with tears he would declare him- 
self thankful that his children were in the grave, 
exclaiming, in allusion to their mother's malady, 
"How could I have borne to see their elegant 
minds mangled with madness !" On viewing the 



Ixxii MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

dead body of Montagu for the last time, he said, 
" I have now done with the world." 

The following passages from two of his letters, 
written about this period, are deeply affecting. 
He tells the Rev. Dr. Laing, 10th April, 1796: 

" I hope I am resigned, as my duty requires, 
and as I wish to be ; but I have passed many a 
bitter hour, though on those occasions nobody 
sees me. I fear my reason is a little disordered, 
for I have sometimes thought of late, especially 
in a morning, that Montagu is not dead, though 
I seem to have a remembrance of a dream that 
he is. This you will say, what I myself believe, 
is a symptom not uncommon in cases similar to 
mine, and that I ought by all means to go from 
home as soon as I can. I will do so when the 
weather becomes tolerable." 

To Sir William Forbes he says, 17th of the 
same month : 

"I have been these many days resolving to 
write to you and Mr. Arbuthnot, to thank you 
for your very kind and sympathetic letters, but 
various things have come in my way to prevent 
it. I need not pretend a hurry of business, for 
every-body knows I am not capable of any. A 
deep gloom hangs upon me, and disables all 
my faculties ; and thoughts so strange sometimes 
occur to me as to make me ' fear that I am not,* 
as Lear says, ' in my perfect mind.' But I thank 
God I am entirely resigned to the divine will ; 
and, though I am now childless, I have friends 



MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. Ixxiii 

whose goodness to me, and other virtues, I find 
great comfort in recollecting. The physicians 
not only advise, but entreat, and indeed command 
me to go from home, and that without further 
delay ; and I do seriously resolve to set out for 
Edinburgh to-morrow." 

Though Beattie never from henceforth engaged 
in any kind of study, he still found some enjoy- 
ment in books, and still derived some pleasure 
from the society of a very few of his oldest friends. 
He almost entirely ceased to correspond, even 
with those whom he most valued ; yet when he 
happened to receive a letter from any of them, 
his spirits were always excited for the rest of the 
day. Music, in which he had once delighted, 
had become disagreeable to him since the loss 
of his eldest son.* A few months, however, be- 
fore Montagu's death, he had occasionally played 
an accompaniment while Montagu sung ; but now, 
when prevailed on to resume his favourite violon- 
cello, he was always dissatisfied with his own 
performance. " My fingers," he writes to the Rev. 
Dr. Laing, oth June, 1798, "have not strength to 
press down the strings." 

* James Hay Beattie had a scientific knowle Ige of music, 
and, with the assistance of the Rev. Dr. Laing, had super- 
intended the building an organ for himself. In one of our 
author's letters, 8th June, 1791, is the following passage: 

" The organ of Durham cathedral was too much for my 
feelings ; for it brought too powerfully to my remembranc* 
another organ, much smaller, indeed, but more interesting, 
which I can never hear any more." 



Ixxiv MEMOIR OF EEATTIE. 

In this state he continued till the beginning 
of April, 1799, when he was struck with palsy, 
which, for eight days, rendered him nearly in- 
capable of utterance. At different times the 
disease repeated its attacks, the last of which, on 
the 5th of October, 1802, deprived him entirely 
of the power of motion. On the morning of the 
ISth of August, 1803, he expired without a 
struggle, in the sixty-eighth year of his age. 

His remains were laid, according to his own 
desire, beside those of his children, in the church- 
yard of St. Nicholas, at Aberdeen ; and a Latin 
inscription, from the pen of the late Dr. James 
Gregory, of Edinburgh, marks the spot of his 
interment. 

In person he was of the middle size, of a broad, 
square make, which seemed to indicate a more 
i-obust constitution than he really possessed. In 
his gait there was something of a slouch. During 
his later years he grew corpulent and unwieldy ; 
but a few months before his death his bulk was 
greatly diminished. His features were very reg- 
ular ; his complexion somewhat dark. His eyes 
were black, brilliant, full of a tender and melan- 
choly expression, and, in the course of conver:^a- 
tion with his friends, became extremely animated. 

Though I am of opinion with Gilbert Wakefield, 
that the maxim De mortuis nil nisi verum is 
better than De mortuis nil nisi bonum, it is with 
pain that I touch on the reported failing of so truly 
good a man as Beattie. Jt !ia:^ han^ asrcrted that 



MEMOIR 01' BEATTIE. Ixxv 

towards the close of life be indulged to excess in 
the use of wine. In a letter to Mr. Arbuthnot, 
he says, " With the present pressure upon my 
mind, I should not be able to sleep, if I did not 
use wine as an opiate; it is less hurtful than 
laudanum, but not so effectual." He may, per- 
haps, have had too frequent recourse to so palat- 
able a medicine, in the hope of banishing for a 
while the recollection of his sorrows ; and if, under 
any circumstances, such a fault is to be regarded 
as venial, it may be excused in one who was a more 
than widowed husband and a childless father. 

The prose writings of Beattie appear of late 
years to have fallen into disrepute ; and the once 
celebrated Essay on Truth is at present as much 
undervalued as it was formerly overrated. 

His fame now rests upon The Minstrel alone. 
Since its first publication, many poems of a far 
loftier and more original character have been pro- 
duced in England ; yet still does it maintain its 
popularity ; and still in Edwin, that happy per- 
sonification of the poetic temperament, do young 
and enthusiastic readers delight to recognize a 
picture of themselves. Though we cannot fail to 
regret that Beattie should have left it incomplete, 
yet we do not long for the concluding books from 
any interest which we take in the story, such as 
is excited by some other unfinished works of genius, 
the tale of Cambuscan, for instance, or the legend 
of Chrlstabel. In The Minstrel^ indeed, there is 
but little invention ; it is a poem of sentiment 



Ixxvi MEMOIR OF BEATTIE. 

and description, conveying to us lessons of true 
philosophy in language of surpassing beauty, and 
displaying pictures of nature, in her romantic 
solitudes, painted by a master's hand. " On my 
once asking Dr. Beattie," says Sir William Forbes, 
" in what manner he had intended to employ his 
Minstrel, had he completed his original design of 
extending the poem to a third canto, he said, he 
proposed to have introduced a foreign enemy as 
invading his country, in consequence of which 
the Minstrel was to employ himself in rousing his 
countrymen to arms." * But surely such a con- 
clusion would have formed too violent a contrast 
to the repose of the earlier books ; and the charm 
which attaches us to the meditative Edwin, while 
a wjinderer among the lonely hills and groves, 
would have been broken, or at least weakened, 
by placing him amid the throng of warriors and 
the din of arms. 

With the exception of The Hermit and" one 
exquisite stanza t of Retirement^ there is little 
worthy of particular notice in the minor poems 
of Beattie. 

* See, too, Beattie's letter to Blacklock,p. xxi.of this memoir. 

t Thy shades, thy silence now be mine, 

Thy charms my only theme ; 
My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pino 

Waves o'er^the gloomy stream : 
Whence the scar'd owl on pinions gray 

Breaks from the rustling boughs. 
And down the lone vale sails away 

To more profound rejjose. 



THE POEMS OF BEATTIE. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



January, 1777. 

Having lately seen in print some poems ascribed 
to me which I never wrote, and some of my own 
inaccurately copied, I thought it would not be 
improper to publish, in this little volume, all the 
verses of which I am willing to be considered as 
the author. Many others I did indeed write in 
the early part of my life ; but they were in ge- 
neral so incorrect, that I would not rescue them 
from oblivion, even if a wish could do it. 

Some of the few now offered to the Public 
would perhaps have been suppressed, if in making 
this collection I had implicitly followed my own 
judgment. But in so small a matter, who would 
refuse to submit his opinion to that of a friend ? 

It is of no consequence to the reader to know 
the date of any of these little poems. But some 
private reasons determined the author to add, that 
1 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



most of them were written many years ago, and 
that the greatest part of the Minstrel, which 
is his latest attempt in this way, was composed in 
the year one thousand seven hundred and sixty- 
eight. 



PREFACE TO THE MINSTREL. 

The design was to trace the progress of a Poet- 
ical Genius, born in a rude age, from the first 
dawning of fancy and reason, till that period at 
which he may be supposed capable of appearing 
in the world as a Minstrel, that is, as an itinerant 
Poet and Musician ; — a character which, accord- 
ing to the notions of our forefathers, was not 
only respectable, but sacred. 

I have endeavoured to imitate Spenser in the 
measure of his verse, and in the harmony, sim- 
plicity, and variety of his composition. Antique 
expressions I have avoided ; admitting, however, 
some old words, where they seemed to suit the 
subject ; but I hope none will be found that are 
now obsolete, or in any degree not intelligible to 
a reader of English poetry. 

To those who may be disposed to ask, what 
could induce me to write in so difficult a measure, 
I can only answer that it pleases my ear, and 



4 PREFACE. 

seems, from its gothic structure and original, 
to bear some relation to the subject and spirit 
of the Poem. It admits both simplicity and 
magnificence of sound and of language beyond 
any other stanza that I am acquainted with. It 
allows the sententiousness of the couplet, as well 
as the more complex modulation of blank verse. 
What some critics have remarked, of its uni- 
formity growing at last tiresome to the ear, will 
be found to hold true only when the poetry is 
faulty in other respects. 



THE MINSTREL. 

BOOK I. 



Me vero primum dulces ante omnia Musje, 
Quarnm sacra fero, ingenti perculsus amore, 
Accipiant. ViRO. 



THE MINSTREL; GR, THE PROGRESS 
OF GENIUS. 

BOOK I. 



Ah ! who can tell how hard it is to climb 
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines 

afar ! 
Ah ! who can tell how many a soul sublime 
Has felt the influence of malignant star, 
And waged with Fortune an eternal war ; 
Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, 
And Poverty's unconquerable bar, 
In life's low vale remote has pined alone. 
Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown ! 

II. 
And yet the languor of inglorious days. 
Not equally oppressive is to all : 
Him who ne'er listen'd to the voice of praise, 
The silence of neglect can ne'er appall. 
There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call, 



8 THE rOEMS 

Would shrink to hear the obstreperous trump 

of Fame ; 
Supremely blest, if to their portion fall 
Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher 
aim 
Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines pro- 
claim. 

III. 

The rolls of fame I will not now explore ; 
Nor need I here describe, in learned lay, 
How forth the Minstrel far'd in days of yore, 
Right glad of heart, though homely in array ; 
His waving locks and beard all hoary gray ; 
"While from his bending shoulder decent hung 
His harp, the sole companion of his way. 
Which to the whistling wind responsive rung: 
And ever as he went some merry lay he sung. 

IV. 

Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of pride, 
That a poor villager inspires my strain ; 
With thee let Pageantry and Power abide : 
The gentle Muses haunt the sylvan reign ; 
Where thro' wild groves at eve the lonely swain 
Enraptur'd roams, to gaze on Nature's charms : 
They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain, 
The parasite their influence never warms, 
Nor him whose sordid soul the love of gold 
alarms. 



OF BEATTIE. 



V. 

Though richest hues the peacock's plumes 

adorn, 
Yet horror screams from his discordant throat. 
Rise, sons of harmony, and hail the morn. 
While warbling larks on russet pinions float ; 
Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote, 
Where the gray linnets carol from the hill : 
O let them ne'er, with artificial note. 
To please a tyrant, strain the little bill. 
But sing what Heaven inspires, and wander where 
they will ! 

VI. 

Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand, 
Nor was perfection made for man below : 
Yet all her schemes with nicest art are plann'd, 
Good counteracting ill, and gladness woe. 
With gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow, 
If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise, 
There plague and poison, lust and rapine 

grow; 
Here peaceful are the vales, and pure the skies. 
And freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in the 

eyes. 

VII. 

Then grieve not, thou, to whom th' indulgent 

Muse 
Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire ; 
Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse 



10 THE POEMS 

The imperial banquet, and the rich attire : 
Know thine own worth, and reverence the lyre. 
Wilt thou debase the heart which God refined ? 
No ; let thy heaven-taught soul to heaven aspire, 
To fancy, freedom, harmony, resign'd ; 
Ambition's grovelling crew for ever left behind. 

VIII. 

Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul, 
In each fine sense so exquisitely keen, 
On the dull couch of Luxury to loll. 
Stung with disease, and stupefied with spleen ; 
Fain to implore the aid of Flattery's screen. 
Even from thyself thy loathsome heart to hide 
(The mansion then no more of joy serene). 
Where fear, distrust, malevolence abide. 
And impotent desire, and disappointed pride ? 

IX. 

O how canst thou renounce the boundless store 
Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! 
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, 
The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ; 
All that the genial ray of morning gilds. 
And all that echoes to the song of even. 
All that the mountain's sheltering bosom 

shields. 
And all the dread magnificence of Heaven,— 
O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be for- 
given ! 



OF BEATTIE. 11 

X. 

These charms shall work thy soul's eternal 

health, 
And love, and gentleness, and joy impart. 
But these thou must renounce, if lust of wealth 
E'er win its way to thy corrupted heart : 
For, ah ! it poisons like a scorpion's dart ; 
Prompting th' ungenerous wish, the selfish 

scheme. 
The stern resolve unmov'd by pity's smart. 
The troublous day, and long distressful dream. 
Return, my roving Muse, resume thy purpos'd 

theme. 

XI. 

There liv'd in gothic days, as legends tell, 
A shepherd swain, a man of low degree ; 
Whose sires, perchance, in Fairyland might 

dwell, 
Sicilian groves, or vales of Arcady ; 
But he, I ween, was of the north countrie •} 
A nation famed for song, and beauty's charms ; 
Zealous, yet modest ; innocent, though free ; 
Patient of toil ; serene amidst alarms ; 
Inflexible in faith ; invincible in arms. 

1 There is hardly an ancient ballad or romance wherein 
a Minstrel or a Harper appears, but he is characterized, by 
way of eminence, to have been " of the north countrie." It 
is probable, that under this appellation were formerly com- 
prehended all the provinces to the north of the Trent. See 
Percy's Essay on the English Minstrels. 



12 THE POEMS 

XII. 

The shepherd swain of whom I mention made, 
On Scotia's mountains fed his little flock ; 
The sickle, scythe, or plough, he never sway'd ; 
An honest heart was almost all his stock: 
His drink the living water from the rock ; 
The milky dams supplied his board, and lent 
Their kindly fleece to baffle winter's shock ; 
And he, tho' oft with dust and sweat besprent. 
Did guide and guard their wanderings, whereso- 
e'er they went. 

XIII. 

From labour health, from health contentment 

springs : 
Contentment opes the source of every joy. . 
He envied not, he never thought of, kings ; 
Nor from those appetites sustain'd annoy 
That chance may frustrate, or indulgence cloy : 
Nor Fate his calm and humble hopes beguil'd ; 
He mourn'd no recreant friend, nor mistress coy, 
For on his vows the blameless Phoebe smil'd. 
And her alone he lov'd, and lov'd her from a child. 

XIV. 

No jealousy their dawn of love o'ercast, 
Nor blasted were their wedded days with strife ; 
Each season look'd delightful, as it past. 
To the fond husband, and the faithful wife. 



OF BEATTIE. 13 

Beyond the lowly vale of shepherd life 
They never roam'd : secure beneath the storm 
Which in Ambition's lofty land is rife, 
Where peace and love are canker'd by the worm 
Of pride, each bud of joy industrious to deform. 

XV. 

The wight whose tale these artless lines unfold 
Was all the offspring of this humble pair ; 
His birth no oracle or seer foretold ; 
No prodigy appear'd in earth or air, 
Nor aught that might a strange event declare. 
You guess each circumstance of Edwin's birth ; 
The parent's transport, and the parent's care, 
The gossip's prayer for wealth, and wit, and 
worth. 
And one long summer day of indolence and mirth. 

XVI. 

And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy : 
Deep thought oft seem'd to fix his infant eye; 
Dainties he heeded not, nor gaud, nor toy, 
Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy : 
Silent when glad ; affectionate, though shy ; 
And now his look was most demurely sad, 
And now he laugh'd aloud, yet none knew why. 
The neighbours star'd and sigh'd, yet bless'd 

the lad : 
Some deem'd him wondrous wise, and some be- 

licv'd him mad 



14 THE POEMS 



XVII. 

But why should I his childish feats display ? 
Concourse, and noise, and toil he ever fled ; 
Nor car'd to mingle in the clamorous fray 
Of squabbling imps ; but to the forest sped, 
Or roam'd at large the lonely mountain's head. 
Or, where the maze of some bewilder'd stream 
To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led, 
There would he wander wild, till Phoebus' beam, 
Shot from the western cliff, releas'd the weary 
team. 

XVIII. 

Th' exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed, 
To him nor vanity nor joy could bring. 
His heart, from cruel sport estrang'd, would 

bleed 
To work the woe of any living thing. 
By trap, or net, by arrow, or by sling ; 
These he detested ; those he scorn'd to wield : 
He wish'd to be the guardian, not the king, 
Tyrant far less, or traitor of the field ; 
And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might 

yield. 

XIX. 

Lo ! where the stripling, wrapt in wonder, 

roves 
Beneath the precipice o'erhung with pine ; 
And sees, on high, amidst th' encircling groves, 
From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine v 



OF BEATTIE. 15 

While waters, woods, and winds in concert join, 
And Echo swells the chorus to the skies. — 
Would Edwin this majestic scene resign 
For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies ? 
Ah ! no : he better knows great Nature's charms 
to prize. 

XX. 

And oft he trac'd the uplands, to survey, 
When o'er the sky advanc'd the kindling dawn, 
The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain 

gray. 
And lake, dim gleaming on the smoky lawn : 
Far to the west the long long vale withdrawn, 
Where twilight loves to linger for a while ; 
And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn. 
And villager abroad at early toil ; 
But, lo ! the Sun appears ! and heaven, earth, ocean, 
smile. 

XXI. 

And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb, 
When all in mist the world below was lost. 
What dreadful pleasure ! there to stand sublime, 
Like shipwreck'd mariner on desert coast. 
And view th' enormous waste of vapour, tost 
In billows, lengthening to th' horizon round. 
Now scoop'd in gulfs, with mountains now em- 

boss'd. 
And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound, 
Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar pro 

found ! 



16 TUE POEMS 



XXII. 

In truth be was a strange and wayward wight, 
Fond of each gentle, and each dreadful scene : 
In darkness and in storm he found delight, 
Nor less, than when on ocean wave serene 
The southern Sun diffus'd his dazzling shene.^ 
Even sad vicissitude amus'd his soul : 
And if a sigh would sometimes intervene. 
And down his cheek a tear of pity roll, 
A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wish'd not to control. 

XXIII. 

" O ye wild groves, where is now your bloom ! " 
(The Muse interprets thus his tender thought) 
" Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy 

gloom, 
Of late so grateful in the hour of drought ! 
Why do the birds, that song and rapture brought 
To all your bowers, their mansions now for- 
sake ? 
Ah ! why has tickle chance this ruin wrought ? 
For now the storm howls mournful through the 
brake. 
And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeless 
flake. 

2 Brightness, splendour. The word is used by some late 
writers, as well as by Milton. 



OF BEATTIE. )7 

XXIV. 

" Where now the rill, melodious, pure, and cool, 
And meads, with life, and mirth, and beauty 

crown'd ! 
Ah ! see, th' unsightly slime and sluggish pool 
Have all the solitary vale imbrown'd ; 
Fled each fair form, and mute each melting 

sound, 
The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray : 
And, hark ! the river, bursting every mound, 
Down the vale thunders, and with wasteful sway 
Uproots the grove, and rolls the shatter'd rocks 

away. 

XXV. 

" Yet such the destiny of all on Earth : 
So flourishes and fades majestic Man. 
Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth, 
And fostering gales awhile the nursling fan. 
O smile, ye heavens, serene ! ye mildews wan, 
Ye blighting whirlwinds, spare his balmy prime, 
Nor lessen of his life the little span ! 
Borne on the swift, though silent wings of Time, 
Old age comes on apace to ravage all the clime. 

XXVI. 

" And be it so. Let those deplore their doom, 
Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn : 
But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb, 
Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn. 

2 



18 THE POEMS 

Shall Spring to these sad scenes no more re- 
turn ? 
Is yonder wave the Sun's eternal bed? 
Soon shall the orient with new lustre burn, 
And Spring shall soon her vital influence shed, 
Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead. 

XXVII. 

" Shall I be left forgotten in the dust, 
When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive ? 
Shall Nature's voice, to man alone unjust, 
Bid him, though doom'd to perish, hope to live ? 
Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive 
With disappointment, penury, and pain ? 
No : Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive. 
And man's majestic beauty bloom again. 
Bright through th' eternal year of Love's triumph- 
ant reign." 

XXVIII. 

This truth sublime his simple sire had taught. 
In sooth, 'twas almost all the shepherd knew : 
No subtle nor superfluous lore he sought. 
Nor ever wish'd his Edwin to pursue. 
" Let man's own sphere," said he, " confine his 

view: 
Be man's peculiar work his sole dehght." 
And much, and oft, he warn'd him to eschew 
Falsehood and guile, and aye maintain the 
right. 
By pleasure unseduc'd, unaw'd by lawless might. 



OF BEATTIE. 19 

XXIX. 

•* And, from the prayer of Want, and plaint of 

Woe, 
O never, never turn away thine ear ! 
Forlorn, in this bleak wilderness below. 
Ah ! what were man, should Heaven refuse to 

hear ! 
To others do (the law is not severe) 
Wliat to thyself thou wishest to be done. 
Forgive thy foes ; and love thy parents dear, 
And friends, and native land ; nor those alone ; 
All human weal and woe learn thou to make 

thine own." 

XXX. 

See, in the rear of the warm sunny shower 
The visionary boy from shelter fly ; 
For now the storm of summer rain is o'er, 
And cool, and fresh, and fragrant is the sky ; 
And, lo ! in the dark east, expanded high, 
The rainbow brightens to the setting Sun ! 
Fond fool, that deem'st the streaming glory nigh, 
How vain the chace thine ardour has begun ! 
'Tis fled afar, ere half thy purpos'd race be run. 

XXXI. 

Yet could'st thou learn, that thus it fares with 

age, 
When pleasure, wealth, or power, the bosom 

warm. 



20 THE POEMS 

This baffled hope might tame thy manhood's rage, 
And disappointment of her sting disarm. 
But why should foresight thy fond heart alarm ? 
Perish the lore that deadens young desire ! 
Pursue, poor imp, th' imaginary charm, 
Indulge gay hope, and fancy's pleasing lire : 
Fancy and hope too soon shall of themselves expire. 

XXXII. 

When the long-sounding curfew from afar 
Loaded with loud lament the lonely gale, 
Young Edwin, lighted by the evening star. 
Lingering and listening, wander'd down the vale. 
There would he dream of graves, and corses pale; 
And ghosts that to the charnel dungeon throng, 
And drag a length of clanking chain, and wail. 
Till silenc'd by the owl's terrific song, 
Or blast that shrieks by fits the shuddering aisles 
along. 

XXXIII. 

Or, when the setting Moon, in crimson dy'd. 
Hung o'er the dark and melancholy deep. 
To haunted stream, remote from man, he hied, 
Where fays of yore their revels wont to keep ; 
And there let Fancy rove at large, till sleep 
A vision brought to his entranced sight. 
And first, a wildly murmuring wind 'gan creep 
Shrill to his ringing ear ; then tapers bright, 
With instantaneous gleam, illum'd the vault of 
nifflit. 



OF BEATTIE. 21 

XXXIV. 

Anon ill view a portal's blazon'd arch 
Arose ; the trumpet bids the valves unfold ; 
And forth an host of little warriors march. 
Grasping the diamond lance and targe of gold. 
Their look was gentle, their demeanour bold, 
And green their helms, and green their silk 

attire ; 
And here and there, right venerably old, 
The long-rob'd minstrels wake the warbling wire, 
And some with mellow breath the martial pipe 

inspire. 

XXXV. 

With merriment, and song, and timbrels clear, 
A troop of dames from myrtle bowers advance ; 
The little warriors doff the targe and spear, 
And loud enlivening strains provoke the dance. 
They meet, they dart away, they wheel askance ; 
To right, to left, they thrid the flying maze ; 
Now bound aloft with vigorous spring, then 

glance 
Rapid along : with many-colour'd rays 
Of tapers, gems, and gold, the echoing forests blaze. 

XXXVI. 

The dream is fled. Proud harbinger of day. 
Who scar'dst the vision with thy clarion slu-ill, 
Fell Chanticleer ! who oft hast reft away 
My fancied good, and brought substantial ill ! 



^^ THE POEMS 

C) to thy cursed scream, discordant still, 
Let harmony aye shut her gentle ear ! 
Thy boastful mirth let jealous rivals spill, 
Insult thy crest, and glossy pinions tear, 
And ever in thy dreams the ruthless fox appear! 

XXXVII. 

Forbear, my Muse ! Let Love attune thy line. 
Revoke the spell. Thine Edwin frets not so. 
For how should he at wicked chance repine, 
Who feels from every change amusement flow ! 
Even now his eyes with smiles of rapture 

glow, 
As on he wanders through the scenes of morn, 
Where the fresh flowers in living lustre blow, 
Where thousand pearls the dewy lawns adorn, 
A thousand notes of joy in every breeze are borne. 

XXXVIII. 

But who the melodies of morn can tell ? 
The wild brook babbling down the mountain 

side ; 
The lowing herd ; the sheepfold's simple bell ; 
The pipe of early shepherd dim descried 
In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide 
The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ; 
The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide ; 
The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love, 
And the full choir that wakes the universal 

grove. 



OF BEATTIE. 23 

XXXIX. 

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark ; 
Crown'd with her pail the tripping milkmaid 
sings ; [hark ! 

The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and 
Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon 

rings; 
Thro' rustling corn the hare astonish'd springs ; 
Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour ; 
The partridge bursts away on whirring wings ; 
Deep mourns the turtle in sequester'd bower, 
And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tower. 

XL. 

O Nature, how in every charm supreme ! 
Whose votaries feast on raptures ever new ! 
O for the voice and fire of seraphim, 
To sing thy glories with devotion due ! 
Blest be the day I 'scap'd the wrangling crew, 
From Pyrrho's maze, and Epicurus' sty, 
And held high converse with the godlike few, 
Who to th' enraptur'd heart, and ear, and eye, 
Teach beauty, virtue, truth, and love, and melody. 

XLI. 

Hence ! ye, who snare and stupefy the mind, 
Sophists, of beauty, virtue, joy, the bane ! 
Greedy and fell, though impotent and blind, 
Who spread your filthy nets in Truth's fair fane, 



24 THE rOEMS 

And ever ply your venom'd fangs amain ! 
Hence to dark Error's den, whose rankling slime 
First gave you form ! Hence ! lest the Muse 

should deign 
(Though loath on theme so mean to waste a 
rhyme) 
With vengeance to pursue your sacrilegious crime. 

XL II. 

But hail, ye mighty masters of the lay, 
Nature's true sons, the friends of man and truth ! 
Whose song, sublimely sweet, serenely gay, 
Amus'd my childhood, and inform'd my youth. 
let your spirit still my bosom soothe, 
Inspire my dreams, and my wild wanderings 

guide ! 
Your voice each rugged path of life can smooth, 
For well I know wherever ye reside. 
There harmony, and peace, and innocence abide. 

XLIII. 

Ah me ! neglected on the lonesome plain, 
As yet poor Edwin never knew your lore, 
Save when against the winter's drenching rain, 
And driving snow, the cottage shut the door. 
Then, as instructed by tradition hoar, 
Her legend when the Beldam 'gan impart, 
Or chant the old heroic ditty o'er. 
Wonder and joy ran thrilling to his heart ; 
Much he the tale admir'd, but more the tuneful art- 



OF BEATTIE. 25 



XLIV. 

Various and strange was the long-winded tale 
And halls, and knights, and feats of arms dis- 

play'd ; 
Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale, 
And sing enaraour'd of the nut-brown maid ; 
The moonlight revel of the fairy glade ; 
Or hags, that suckle an infernal brood, 
And ply in caves th' unutterable trade,^ 
Midst fiends and spectres, quench the moon in 

blood. 
Yell in the midnight storm, or ride th' infuriate 

flood. 

XLV. 

But when to horror his amazement rose, 
A gentler strain the Beldam would rehearse, 
A tale of rural life, a tale of woes, 
The orphan-babes, and guardian uncle fierce. 
O cruel ! will no pang of pity pierce 
That heart by lust of lucre sear'd to stone? 
For sure, if aught of virtue last, or verse, 
To latest times shall tender souls bemoan 
Those hopeless orphan-babes by thy fell arts un- 
done. 

8 Allusion to Shakspeare. 
Macbeth. How now, you secret, black, and midnight hags? 

What is't you doV 
Witches. A deed without a name. 

Macbeth, Act iv. Scene 1. 



26 THE POEMS 



XLVI. 

Behold, with berries smear'd, with brambles 

torn,* 
The babes now famish'd lay them down to die ; 
Amidst the howl of darksome woods forlorn, 
Folded in one another's arms they lie ; 
Nor friend nor stranger hears their dying cry ; 
" For from the town the man returns no more." 
But thou, who Heaven's just vengeance dar'st 

defy, 
This deed with fruitless tears shalt soon deplore. 
When death lays waste thy house, and flames 

consume thy store. 

XLVII. 

A stifled smile of stern vindictive joy 
Brighten'd one moment Edwin's starting tcai 
" But why should gold man's feeble mind 

decoy, 
And innocence thus die by doom severe ?" 
O Edwin ! while thy heart is yet sincere, 
Th' assaults of discontent and doubt repel : 
Dark even at noontide is our mortal sphere ; 
But let us hope ; to doubt is to rebel ; 
Let us exult in hope that all shall yet be well. 



4 See the fine old ballad called The Children in the 
Wood. 



OF BEATTIE. 27 



XLVIII. 

Nor be thy generous indignation clieck*d, 
Nor check'd the tender tear to Misery given ; 
From Guilt's contagious power shall that 

protect, 
This soften and refine the soul for heaven. 
But dreadful is their doom whom doubt has 

driven 
To censure Fate, and pious Hope forego : 
Like yonder blasted boughs by lightning riven, 
Perfection, beauty, life, they never know, 
But frown on all that pass, a monument of woe. 

XLIX. 

Shall he, whose birth, maturity, and age, 

Scarce fill the circle of one summer day. 

Shall the poor gnat, with discontent and rage, 

Exclaim that nature hastens to decay. 

If but a cloud obstruct the solar ray, 

If but a momentary shower descend ? 

Or shall frail man Heaven's dread decree 

gainsay. 
Which bade the series of events extend 
Wide through unnumber'd worlds, and ages with- 
out end ? 

L. 

One part, one little part, we dimly scan 
Thro' the dark medium of life's feverish dream; 
Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan, 



28 



THE POEMS 



If but that little part incongruous seem. 
Nor is that part perhaps what mortals deem ; 
Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise. 
then renounce that impious self-esteem, 
That aims to trace the secrets of the skies ! 
For thou art but of dust ; be humble, and be wise. 

LI. 

Thus Heaven enlarged his soul in riper years. 
For Nature gave him strength, and fire, to soar 
On Fancy's wing above this vale of tears, 
Where dark cold-hearted sceptics, creeping, pore 
Through microscope of metaphysic lore : 
And much they grope for Truth, but never hit. 
For why ? Their powers, inadequate before, 
This idle art makes more and more unfit ; 
Yet deem they darkness light, and their vain 
blunders wit. 

LII. 

Nor was this ancient Dame a foe to mirth. 
Her ballad, jest, and riddle's quaint device 
Oft cheer'd the shepherds round their social 

hearth ; 
Whom levity or spleen could ne'er entice 
To purchase chat or laughter at the price 
Of decency. Nor let it faith exceed, 
That Nature forms a rustic taste so nice. 
Ah ! had they been of court or city breed, 
Such delicacy were right marvellous indeed. 



OF BEATTIE. 29 

LTII. 

Oft. wliuii tliu winter .storm had ceas'd to rave, 
He roaiu'd the suowj waste at even, to view 
The cloud stupendous, from th' Atlantic wave 
High-towering, sail along th' horizon blue : 
Where, midst the changeful scenery, ever new, 
Fancy a thousand wondrous forms descries, 
More wildly great than ever pencil drew, — 
Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant size, 
And glittering cliffs on cliffs, and fiery ramparts 
rise. 

LIV. 

Thence musing onward to the sounding shore. 
The lone enthusiast oft would take his way. 
Listening, with pleasing dread, to the deep roar 
Of the wide- weltering waves. In black array 
When sulphurous clouds roll'd on th' autumnal 

day. 
Even then he hasten'd from the haunt of man, 
Along the trembling wilderness to stray, 
What time the lightning's fierce career began, 
And o'er heaven's rendhig arch the rattling thun- 
der ran. 

LV. 

Responsive to the sprightly pipe, when all 
In sprightly dance the village youth were 

join'd, 
Edwin, of melody aye held in thrall. 
From the i-udc gambol far remote reclin'd, 



30 THE rOEMS 

Sooth'd with the soft notes warbUng in the wind. 
Ah then, all jollity seem'd noise and folly 
To the pure soul by Fancy's fire refin'd ! 
Ah, what is mirth but turbulence unholy, 
When with the charm compar'd of heavenly me- 
lancholy ! 

LVI. 

Is there a heart that music cannot melt ? 

Alas ! how is that rugged heart forlorn ; 

Is there, who ne'er those mystic transports 
felt 

Of solitude and melancholy born ? 

He needs not woo the Muse ; he is her scorn. 

The sophist's rope of cobweb he shall twine; 

Mope o'er the schoolman's peevish page ; or 
mourn, 

And delve for life in Mammon's dirty mine ; 
Sneak with the scoundrel fox, or grunt with glut- 
ton swine. 

LVII. 

For Edwin Fate a nobler doom had plann'd. 
Song was his favourite and first pursuit: 
The wild harp rang to his adventurous luuid, 
And languish'd to his breath the pkiintivt. flute. 
His infant Muse, though artless, was not 

mute : 
Of elegance as yet he took no care ; 
For this of time and culture is the fruit, 
And Edwin gain'd at hist this fruit so rare, 
As in some future verse I purpose to declare. 



OF BEATTIE. 31 



LVIII. 

Meanwhile, whate'er of beautiful, or new, 
Sublime, or dreadful, in earth, sea, or sky, 
By chance, or search was offered to his view, 
He scann'd with curious and romantic eye. 
Whate'er of lore tradition could supply 
From gothic tale, or song, or fable old, 
Rous'd him, still keen to listen and to pry. 
At last, though long by penury control'd. 
And solitude, his soul her graces 'gan unfold. 

LIX. 

Thus on the chill Lapponian's dreary land, 
For many a long month lost in snow profound. 
When Sol from Cancer sends the season bland. 
And in their northern cave the storms are bound, 
From silent mountains, straight, with startling 

sound, 
Torrents are hurl'd ; green hills emerge; and lo, 
The trees with foliage, cliffs with flowers are 

crown'd ; 
Pure rills through vales of verdure warbling go; 
And wonder, love, and joy, the peasant's heart 

o'erflow.^ 



6 Spring and Autumn are hardly known to the Laplanders. 
About the time the Sun enters Cancer, their fields, which a 
week before were covered with snow, appear on a sudden full 
of grass and Rowers.— Schefftr's Ilistory of Lapland, p. 16. 



32 THE rOEMS OF BEATTIE. 



Heixi pause, my gothic lyre, a little while. 
The leisure hour is all that thou canst claim. 
But on this verse if Montagu should smile, 
New strains ere long shall animate thy frame. 
And her applause to me is more than fame ; 
For still with truth accords her taste refined. 
At lucre or renown let others aim, 
I only wish to please the gentle mind 
Whom Nature's charms inspire, and love of hu- 
man kind. 



THE MINSTREL. 

BOOK II. 



Doctrina sed vim promovet insitara, 
Rectique cultus pectora roboraut. 



THE MINSTREL; OR, THE PROGRESS 
OF GENIUS. 

BOOK n. 

I. 

Of chance or change O let not man complain, 
Else shall he never never cease to wail : 
Vor. from the imperial dome, to where the swain 
Kears the lone cottage in the silent dale, 
All feel th' assault of fortune's fickle gale ; 
Art, empire, earth itself, to change are doom'd ; 
Earthquakes have rais'd to heaven the humble 

vale. 
And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass entomb'd, 
And where th' Atlantic rolls wide continents have 

bloom'd.^ 

II. 
But sure to foreign climes we need not range, 
Nor search the ancient records of our race. 
To learn the dire effects of time and change. 
Which in ourselves, alas ! we daily trace. 
1 See Pluto's Tiina'us. 



36 THE POEMS 

Yet at the darken'd eye, the vvither'd face, 
Or hoary hair, I never will repine : 
But spare, O Time, whate'er of mental grace, 
Of candour, love, or sympathy divine, 
Whate'er of fancy's ray, or friendship's flame is 
mine ! 

III. 

So I, obsequious to truth's dread command, 
Shall here without reluctance change my lay, 
And smite the gothic lyre with harsher hand, 
Now when I leave that flowery path for aye 
Of childhood, where I sported many a day, 
"Warbling and sauntering carelessly along ; 
Where every face was innocent and gay, 
Each vale romantic, tuneful every tongue, 
Sweet, wild, and artless all, as Edwhi's infant song. 

IV. 

" Perish the lore that deadens young desire," 
Is the soft tenor of my song no more : 
Edwin, though lov'd of Heaven, must not 

aspire 
To bliss which mortals never knew before. 
On trembling wings let youtliful fancy soar, 
Nor always haunt the sunny realms of joy ; 
But now and then the shades of life explore. 
Though many a sound and sight of woe annoy, 
And many a qualm of care his rising hopes 

destroy. 



OF BEATTIE. 37 

V. 

Vigour from toil, from trouble patience grows : 
The weakly blossom, warm in summer bower, 
Some tints of transient beauty may disclose, 
But soon it withers in the chilling hour. 
Mark yonder oaks ! Superior to the power 
Of all the warring winds of heaven they rise. 
And from the stormy promontory tower. 
And toss their giant arms amid the skies, 
While each assailing blast increase of strength 
supplies. 

VI. 

And now the downy cheek and deepen'd voice 
Gave dignity to Edwin's blooming prime ; 
And walks of wider circuit were his choice, 
And vales more wild, and mountains more sub- 
lime. 
One evening, as he fram'd the careless rhyme. 
It was his chance to wander far abroad, 
And o'er a lonely eminence to climb. 
Which heretofore his foot had never trode ; 
A vale appear'd below, a deep retir'd abode. 

VII. 

Thither he hied, enamour'd of the scene. 
For rocks on rocks, pil'd, as by magic spell. 
Here scorch'd with lightning, there with ivy 

green, 
Fenc'd from the north and east this savage dell : 



38 THE POEMS 

Southward a mountain rose with easy swell, 
Whose long long groves eternal murmur made: 
And toward the western sun a streamlet fell, 
Where, through the cliffs, the eye, remote, sur- 

vey'd 
Blue hills, and glittering waves, and skies in gold 

array'd. 

VIII. 

Along this narrow valley you might see 
The wild deer sporting on the meadow ground, 
And, here and there, a solitary tree. 
Or mossy stone, or rock with woodbine crown'd. 
Oft did the cliffs reverberate the sound 
Of parted fragments tumbling from on high ; 
And from the summit of that craggy mound 
The perching eagle oft was heard to cry, 
Or on resounding wings to shoot athwart the sky. 

IX. 

One cultivated spot there was that spread 
Its flowery bosom to the noonday beam. 
Where many a rosebud rears its blushing head, 
And herbs for food with future plenty teem. 
Sooth'd by the lulling sound of grove and stream, 
Romantic visions swarm on Edwin's soul : 
He minded not the sun's last trembling gleam, 
Nor heard from far the twilight curfew toll — 
When slowly on his ear these moving accents 
stole: 



OF BEATTIE. 39 

X. 

" Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled 

breast, 
And woo the weary to profound repose; 
Can passion's wildest uproar lay to rest, 
And whisper comfort to the man of woes ! 
Here innocence may wander, safe from foes, 
And Contemplation soar on seraph wings. 
O Solitude ! the man who thee foregoes. 
When lucre lures him, or ambition stings, 
Shall never know the source whence real grandeur 

springs. 

XI. 

" Vain man ! is grandeur given to gay attire ? 
Then let the butterfly thy pride upbraid : 
To friends, attendants, armies, bought with hire ? 
It is thy weakness that requires their aid : 
To palaces, with gold and gems inlaid ? 
They fear the thief and tremble in the storm : 
To hosts, through carnage who to conquest wade ? 
Behold the victor vanquish'd by the worm ! 
Behold what deeds of woe the locust can perform ! 

XII. 

" True dignity is his whose tranquil mind 
Virtue has raised above the things below ; 
Who, every hope and fear to Heaven resign'd, 
Shrinks not, though Fortune aim her deadliest 
blow." 



40 THE POEMS 

This strain from 'midst the rocks was heard to 

flow 
In solemn sounds. Now beam'd the evening 

star ; 
And from embattled clouds emerging slow 
Cynthia came riding on her silver car ; 
And hoary mountain-cliifs shone faintly from afar. 

XIII. 

Soon did the solemn voice its theme renew 
(While Edwin wrapt in wonder listening stood) 
" Ye tools and toys of tyranny, adieu ! 
Scorn'd by the wise, and hated by the good. 
Ye only can engage the servile brood 
Of Levity and Lust, who all their days, 
Asham'd of truth and liberty, have woo'd 
And hugg'd the chain that, glittering on their 

gaze, 
Seems to outshine the pomp of heaven's empyreal 

blaze. 

XIV. 

" Like them, abandon'd to Ambition's sway, 
I sought for glory in the paths of guile ; 
And fawn'd and smil'd, to plunder and betray, 
Myself betray'd and plunder'd all the while ; 
So gnaw'd the viper the corroding file : 
But now, with pangs of keen remorse, I rue 
Those years of' trouble and debasement vile. 
Yet Avhy should I this cruel theme pursue ! 
Fly, fly, detested thoughts, for ever from my view! 



OF BEATTIE. 41 

XV. 

" The gusts of appetite, the clauds of care, 
And storms of disappointment, all o'erpast. 
Henceforth no earthly hope with Heaven shall 

share 
This heart, where peace serenely shines at last. 
And if for me no treasure be amass'd. 
And if no future age shall hear my name, 
I lurk the more secure from Fortune's blast, 
And with more leisure feed this pious flame. 
Whose rapture far transcends the fairest hopes of 

fame. 

XVI. 

" The end and the reward of toil is rest : 
Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace. 
Of wealth and fame, of pomp and power pos- 

sess'd. 
Who ever felt his weight of woe decrease ? 
Ah ! what avails the lore of Rome and Greece, 
The lay heaven-prompted, and harmonious 

string, 
The dust of Ophir, or the Tyrian fleece. 
All that art, fortune, enterprise, can bring. 
If envy, scorn, remorse, or pride, the bosom wring ! 

XVII. 

" Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb [nown, 
With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of re- 
in the deep dungeon of some gothic dome. 



42 THE POEMS 

Where night and desolation ever frown. 
Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down ; 
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, 
With here and there a violet bestrown, 
Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring . 
wave ; 
And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my 
grave ! 

XVIII. 

"And thither let the village swain repair ; 
And, light of heart, the village maiden gay, 
To deck with flowers her half-dishevel'd hair. 
And celebrate the merry morn of May. 
There let the shepherd's pipe the livelong day 
Fill all the grove with love's bewitching woe ; 
And when mild Evening comes, in mantle gray, 
Let not the blooming band make haste to go ; 
No ghost, nor spell, my long, my last abode shall 
know. 

XIX. 

" For though I fly to 'scape from Fortune's rage, 
And bear the scars of envy, spite, and scorn. 
Yet with mankind no horrid war I wage, 
Yet with no impious spleen my breast is torn : 
For virtue lost, and ruin'd man, I mourn. 
O man ! creation's pride, Heaven's darling child, 
Whom Nature's best, divinest gifts adorn. 
Why from thy home are truth and joy exil'd. 
And all thy favourite haunts with blood and tears 
defil'd? 



OF BEATTIE. 43 



XX. 

•*Along yon glittering sky what glory streams ! 
What majesty attends Night's lovely queen ! 
Fair laugh our valleys in the vernal beams ; 
And mountains rise, and oceans roll between, 
And all conspire to beautify the scene. 
But, in the mental world, what chaos drear ! 
What forms of mournful, loathsome, furious 



mien 



O when shall that eteraal morn appear, 
These dreadful forms to chase, this chaos dark to 
clear ! 

XXI. 

" O Thou, at whose creative smile, yon heaven, 
In all the pomp of beauty, life, and light. 
Rose from th' abyss ; when dark Confusion, 

driven 
Down, down the bottomless profound of night, 
Fled, where he ever flies thy piercing sight, 
O glance on these sad shades one pitying ray. 
To blast the fury of oppressive might. 
Melt the hard heart to love and mercy's sway, 
And cheer the wandering soul, and light him on 
the way ! " 

XXII. 

Silence ensu'd : and Edwin rais'd his eyes 
In tears, for grief lay heavy at his heart. 
"And is it thus in courtly life," he cries, 
" That man to man acts a betrayer's part ? 



44 THE POEMS 

And dares he thus the gifts of Heaven pervert, 
Each social instinct, and subhme desire ? 
Hail Poverty, if honour, wealth, and art. 
If what the great pursue, and learn'd admire, 
Thus dissipate and quench the soul's ethereal fire ! " 

XXIII. 

He said, and turn'd away ; nor did the sage 
O'erhear, in silent orisons employ'd. 
The youth, his rising sorrow to assuage. 
Home as he hied, the evening scene enjoy'd : 
For now no cloud obscures the starry void ; 
The yellow moonlight sleeps on all the hills ;^ 
- Nor is the mind with startling sounds annoy'd; 

A soothing murmur the lone region fills. 
Of groves, and dying gales, and melancholy rills. 

XXIV. 

But he from day to day more anxious grew. 
The voice still seem'd to vibrate on his ear. 
Nor durst he hope the hermit's tale untrue ; 
For man he seem'd to love, and Heaven to fear, 
And none speaks false,where there is none to hear. 
" Yet can man's gentle heart become so fell ! 
No more in vain conjecture let me wear 
My hours away, but seek the hermit's cell ; 
*Tis he my doubt can clear, perhaps my care dispel." 



2 How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank. 

Shakspeare. 



OF BEATTIE. 45 



XXV. 

At early dawn the youth his journey took, 
And many a mountain pass'd and valley wide, 
Then reach'd the wild ; where, in a flowery nook, 
And seated on a mossy stone, he spied 
An ancient man : his harp lay him beside. 
A stag sprang from the pasture at his call, 
And, kneeling, lick'd the wither'd hand that 

tied 
A wreath of woodbine round his antlers tall. 
And hung his lofty neck with many a flow'ret small. 



And now the hoary sage arose, and saw 
The wanderer approaching : innocence 
Smil'd on his glowing cheek, but modest awe 
Depress'd his eye, that fear'd to give offence. 
" Who art thou, courteous stranger ? and from 

whence ? 
Why roam thy steps to this sequester'd dale ? " 
"A shepherd-boy," the youth replied;" far hence 
My habitation ; hear my artless tale ; 
Nor levity nor falsehood shall thine ear assail. 

XXVII. 

" Late as I roam'd, intent on Nature's charms, 
I reach'd at eve this wilderness profound ; 
And, leaning where yon oak expands her arms, 
Heard these rude cliffs thine awful voice rebound 



46 THE POEMS 

^For in thy speech I recognize the sound). 
You mourn'd for ruin'd man, and virtue lost, 
And seem'd to feel of keen remorse the 

wound, 
Pondering on former days by guilt engross'd, 
Or in the giddy storm of dissipation toss'd. 

XXVIII. 

'' But say, in courtly life can craft be learn'd, 
Where knowledge opens, and exalts the soul ? 
Where Fortune lavishes her gifts, unearn'd, 
Can selfishness the liberal heart control ? 
Is glory there achiev'd by arts as foul 
As those that felons, fiends, and furies plan ? 
Spiders ensnare, snakes poison, tigers prowl : 
Love is the godlike attribute of man. 
O teach a simple youth this myrftery to scan ! 



" Or else the lamentable strain disclaim. 
And give me back the calm, contented mind ; 
Which, late exulting, view'd in Nature's frame 
Goodness untainted, wisdom unconfin'd, 
Grace, grandeur, and utility combin'd. 
Restore those tranquil days, that saw me still 
Well pleas'd with all, but most with human- 
kind ; 
When Fancy roam'd through Nature's works at 
will, 
Uncheck'd by cold distrust, and uninform'd of ill." 



OF BEATTIE. 47 

XXX. 

*' Wouldst thou," the sage replied, " in peace 

return 
To the gay dreams of fond romantic youth, 
Leave me to hide, in this remote sojourn, 
From every gentle ear the dreadful truth : 
For if my desultory strain with ruth 
And indignation make thine eyes overflow, 
Alas ! what comfort could thy anguish soothe, 
Shouldst thou th' extent of human folly know! 
Be ignorance thy choice, where knowledge leads 

to woe. 

XXXT. 

" But let untender thoughts afar be driven ; 
Nor venture to arraign the dread decree. 
For know, to man, as candidate for heaven. 
The voice of the Eternal said. Be free : 
And this divine prerogative to thee 
Does virtue, happiness, and heaven convey ; 
For virtue is the child of liberty. 
And happiness of virtue ; nor can they 
Be free to keep the path, who are not free to stray 

XXXII. 

" Yet leave me not. I would allay that grief, 
Which else might thy young virtue over- 
power ; 
And in thy converse I shall find relief 
When the dark shades of melancholy lower ; 



48 THE POEMS 

For solitude has many a dreary hour, [pain. 
Even when exempt from grief, remorse, and 
Come often then ; for, haply, in my bower, 
Amusement, knowledge, wisdom thou may'st 
gain : 
If I one soul improve, I have not liv'd in vain." 

XXXIII. 

And now, at length, to Edwin's ardent gaze 
The Muse of History unrolls her page : 
But few, alas ! the scenes her art displays, 
To charm his fancy, or his heart engage. 
Here chiefs their thirstof power in blood assuage, 
And straight their flames with tenfold fierceness 

burn : 
Here smiling Virtue prompts the patriot's rage. 
But lo, ere long, is left alone to mourn. 
And languish in the dust, and clasp the abandon'd 
uni ! 

XXXIV. 

" Ambition's slippery verge shall mortals tread, 
Where ruin's gulf unfathom'd yawns beneath ? 
Shall life, shall liberty be lost," he said, 
" For the vain toys that pomp and power be- 
queath ? 
The car of victory, the plume, the wreath. 
Defend not from the bolt of fate the brave : 
No note the clarion of renown can breatlie, 
To alarm the long night of the lonely grave. 
Or check the headlong haste of time's o'erwhelm- 
ins wave. 



OF BEATTIE. 49 



XXXV. 

" Ah, what avails it to have trac'd the springs 
That whirl of empire the stupendous wheel ! 
Ah, what have I to do with conquering kings, 
Hands drench'd in blood, and breasts begirt 

with steel ! 
To those whom Nature taught to think and feel, 
Heroes, alas ! are things of small concern. 
Could History man's secret heart reveal, 
And what imports a heaven-born mind to learn, 
Her transcripts to explore what bosom would not 

yearn ! 

XXXVI. 

" This praise, O Ch^eronean sage,^ is thine ! 
(Why should this praise to thee alone belong ?) 
All else from Nature's moral path decline, 
Lur'd by the toys that captivate the throng ; 
To herd in cabinets and camps, among 
Spoil, carnage, and the cruel pomp of pride ; 
Or chant of heraldry the drowsy song, 
How tyrant blood, o'er many a region wide. 
Rolls to a thousand thrones its execrable tide. 

XXXVII. 

" O who of man the story will unfold. 
Ere victory and empire wrought annoy. 
In that elysian age (misnam'd of gold). 
The age of love, and innocence, and joy, 

8 Plutarch. 

4 



50 THE POEMS 

When all were great and free ! man's sole em- 
ploy 

To deck the bosom of his parent earth, 

Or toward his bower the m armuring stream 
decoy; 

To aid the floweret's long-expected birth, 
And lull the bed of peace, and crown the board 
of mirth. 

XXXVIII. 

*' Sweet were your shades, O ye primeval 
groves ! 

Whose boughs to man his food and shelter lent. 

Pure in his pleasures, happy in his loves, 

His eyes still smiling, and his heart content. 

Then, hand in hand, health, sport, and labour 
went; 

Nature supplied the wish she taught to crave ; 

None prowl'd for prey, none watch'd to circum- 
vent ; 

To all an equal lot Heaven's bounty gave : 
No vassal fear'd his lord, no tyrant fear'd his slave. 

XXXIX. 

" But ah ! th' historic Muse has never dar'd 
To pierce those hallow'd bowers : 'tis Fancy's 

beam, 
Pour'd on the vision of th' enraptur'd bard, 
That paints the charms of that delicious theme. 
Then hail sweet Fancy's ray! and hail the 

dream 



OF BKATTIE. 51 

That weans the weary soul from guilt and woe ! 
Careless what others of my choice may deem, 
I long, where Love and Fancy lead, to go, 
And meditate on Heaven; enough of Earth I 
know." 

XL. 

** I cannot blame thy choice," the sage replied, 
" For soft and smooth are Fancy's flowery ways: 
And yet, even there, if left without a guide, 
The young adventurer unsafely plays. 
Eyes dazzled long by fiction's gaudy rays 
In modest truth no light nor beauty find : 
And who, my child, would trust the meteor- 
blaze. 
That soon must fail, and leave the wanderer 
blind, 
More dark and helpless far, than if it ne'er had 
shin'd ? 

XLI. 

" Fancy enervates, while it soothes, the heart. 
And, while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight : 
To joy each heightening charm it can impart, 
But wraps the hour of woe in tenfold night. 
And often, where no real ills afiright. 
Its visionary fiends, an endless train, 
Assail with equal or superior might. 
And through the throbbing heart, and dizzy 

brain. 
And shivering nerves, shoot stings of more than 

mortal pain. 



52 THE POEMS 

XLII. 

" And yet, alas ! the real ills of life 
Claim the full vigour of a mind prepar'd, 
Prepared for patient, long, laborious strife, 
Its guide experience, and truth its guard. 
We fare on earth as other men have far'd. 
Were they successful? Let not us despair. 
Was disappointment oft their sole reward ? 
Yet shall their tale instruct, if it declare 
How they have borne the load ourselves are doom'd 
to bear. 

XLIII. 

** What charms th' historic Muse adorn, from 

spoils. 
And blood, and tyrants, when she wings her 

flight, 
To hail the patriot prince, whose pious toils. 
Sacred to science, liberty, and right. 
And peace, through every age divinely bright 
Shall shine the boast and wonder of mankind ! 
Sees yonder Sun, from his meridian height, 
A lovelier scene, than virtue thus enshrin'd 
In power, and man with man for mutual aid 

combin'd ? 

XLIV. 

" Hail sacred Polity, by Freedom rear'd ! 
Hail sacred Freedom, when by law restrain'd ! 
Without you what were man ? A grovelling herd, 
In darkness, wretchedness, and want enchain'd. 



OF BEATTIK. 53 

Sublim'd by you, the Greek and Roman reign'd 
In arts unrivall'd : O, to latest days, 
In Albion may your influence, unprofan'd, 
To godlike worth the generous bosom raise, 
And prompt the sage's lore, and fire the poet's lays ! 

XLV. 

" But now let other themes our care engage. 
P'^or lo, with modest yet majestic grace, 
To curb Imagination's lawless rage, 
And from within the cherish'd heart to brace, 
Philosophy appears. The gloomy race 
By Indolence and moping Fancy bred, 
Fear, Discontent, Solicitude, give place, 
And Hope and Courage brighten in their 
stead. 
While on the kindling soul her vital beams are shed. 

XLVI. 

" Then waken from long lethargy to life* 
The seeds of happiness, and powers of thought; 
Then jarring appetites forego their strife, 
A strife by ignorance to madness wrought. 
Pleasure by savage man is dearly bought 



* The influence of the philosophic spirit, in humanizing the 
mind, and preparing it for intellectual exertion and delicate 
pleasure ; — in exploring, by the help of geometry, the system 
of the universe; — ^in banishing superstition; — in promoting 
navigation, agriculture, medicine, and moral and political 
science. 



54 THE POEMS 

With fell revenge, lust that defies control, 
With gluttony and death. The mind untaught 
Is a dark waste where fiends and tempests howl : 
As Phoebus to the world, is science to the soul. 

XLVII. 

" And Reason now through number, time, and 

space 
Darts the keen lustre of her serious eye, 
And learns from facts compar'd, the laws to 

trace 
Whose long progression leads to Deity. 
Can mortal strength presume to soar so high ! 
Can mortal sight, so oft bedimm'd with tears. 
Such glory bear ! — for lo, the shadows fly 
From Nature's face ; confusion disappears. 
And order charms the eye, and harmony the ears. 

XLVIII. 

" In the deep windings of the grove, no more 
The hag obscene and grisly phantom dwell ; 
Nor in the fall of mountain-stream, or roar 
Of winds, is heard the angry spirit's yell ; 
No wizard mutters the tremendous spell. 
Nor sinks convulsive in prophetic swoon ; 
Nor bids the noise of drums and trumpets 

swell, 
To ease of fancied pangs the labouring Moon, 
Or chase the shade that blots the blazing orb of 

noon. 



OF BEATTIE. 55 



XLIX. 

" Many a long-lingering year, in lonely isle, 
Stunn'd with th' eternal turbulence of waves, 
Lo, with dim eyes, that never learn'd to smile, 
And trembling hands, the famish'd native craves 
Of Heaven his wretched fare: shivering in caves, 
Or scorch'd on rocks, he pines from day to day ; 
But Science gives the word, and lo, he braves 
The surge and tempest, lighted by her ray, 
And to a happier land wafts merrily away ! 



" And even where Nature loads the teeming plain 
With the full pomp of vegetable store. 
Her bounty, unimprov'd, is deadly bane. 
Dark woods and rankling wilds, from shore to 

shore. 
Stretch their enormous gloom ; which to explore 
Even Fancy trembles, in her sprightliest mood ; 
For there each eyeball gleams with lust of gore. 
Nestles each murderous and each monstrous 

brood, 
Plague lurks in every shade, and steams from every 

flood. 

LI. 

" Twas from Philosophy man learn'd to tame 
The soil, by plenty to intemperance fed. 
Lo, from the echoing axe, and thundering flame, 
Poison, and plague, and yelling rage are fled ! 



56 THE POEMS 

The waters, bursting from their slimy bed, 
Bring health and melody to every vale : 
And, from the breezy main, and mountain's 

head, 
Ceres and Flora, to the sunny dale, 
To fan their glowing charms, invite the fluttering 

gale. 

LII. 

What dire necessities on every hand 
Our art, our strength, our fortitude require ! 
Of foes intestine what a numerous band 
Against this little throb of life conspire ! 
Yet Science can elude their fatal ire 
Awhile, and turn aside Death's levell'd dart, 
Soothe the sharp pang, allay the fever's fire, 
And brace the nerves once more, and cheer the 
heart. 
And yet a few soft nights and balmy days impart. 

LIII. 

" Nor less to regulate man's moral frame 
Science exerts her all-composing sway. 
Flutters thy breast with fear, or pants for fame, 
Or pines, to indolence and spleen a prey, 
Or avarice, a fiend more fierce than they ? 
Flee to the shade of Academus' grove ; 
Where cares molest not, discord melts away 
In harmony, and the pure passions prove 
How sweet the words of Truth breath'd from the 
lips of Love. 



OF BEATTIE. 57 

LIV. 

•* What cannot Art and Industry perform, 
When Science plans the progress of their 

toil! 
They smile at penury, disease, and storm ; 
And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil. 
When tyrants scourge, or demagogues embroil 
A land, or when the rabble's headlong rage 
Order transforms to anarchy and spoil, 
Deep-vers'd in man, the philosophic sage 
Prepares with lenient hand their frenzy to assuage. 

LV. 

" 'Tis he alone, whose comprehensive mind, 
From situation, temper, soil, and clime 
Explor'd, a nation's various powers can bind. 
And various orders, in one form sublime 
Of polity, that, midst the wrecks of time. 
Secure shall lift its head on high, 'nor fear 
Th' assault of foreign or domestic crime. 
While public faith, and public love sincere. 
And industry and law maintain their sway severe." 

LVI. 

Enraptur'd by the hermit's strain, the youth 
Proceeds the path of Science to explore. 
And now, expanded to the beams of truth. 
New energies, and charms unknown before, 
His mind discloses : Fancy now no more 



58 THE POEMS 

Wantons on fickle pinion through the skies ; 
But, fix'd in aim, and conscious of her power, 
Aloft from cause to cause exults to rise, 
Creation's blended stores arranging as she flies. 

LVII. 

Nor love of novelty alone inspires, 
Their laws and nice dependencies to scan ; 
For, mindful of the aids that life requires, 
And of the services man owes to man. 
He meditates new arts on Nature's plan ; 
The cold desponding breast of sloth to warm, 
The flame of industry and genius fan. 
And emulation's noble rage alarm. 
And the long hours of toil and solitude to charm. 

LVIII. 

But she, who set on fire his infant heart. 
And all his dreams and all his wanderings shar'd 
And bless'd — the Muse, and her celestial art. 
Still claim th' enthusiast's fond and first regard. 
From Nature's beauties, variously compar'd 
And variously combin'd, he learns to frame 
Those forms of bright perfection,^ which the 
bard, [flame, 

While boundless hopes and boundless views in- 
Enamour'd consecrates to never-dying fame. 

5 General ideas of excellence, the immediate archetypes of 
sublime imitation, both in painting and in poetry. See Ann- 
tot^e's Poetics, and the Discourses of Sir Joshua Keynolds. 



OF BEATTIE. 59 

LIX. 

Of late, with cumbersome, tho' pompous show, 
Edwin would oft his flowery rhyme deface, 
Through ardour to adorn : but Nature now 
To his experienc'd eye a modest grace 
Presents, where ornament the second place 
Holds, to intrinsic worth and just design 
Subservient still. Simplicity apace 
Tempers his rage ; he owns her charm divine, 
And clears th' ambiguous phrase, and lops th' un- 
wieldy line. 

LX. 

Fain would I sing (much yet unsung remains) 
What sweet delirium o'er his bosom stole, 
When the great shepherd of the Mantuan plains® 
His deep majestic melody 'gan roll : 
Fain would I sing what transport storm'd his 

soul, 
How the red current throbb'd his veins along, 
When, like Pelides, bold beyond control, 
Without art graceful, without effort strong. 
Homer rais'd high to Heaven the loud, th' impe- 
tuous song. 

LXI. 

And how his lyre, though rude her first essays, 
Now skill'd to soothe, to triumph, to complain. 
Warbling at will through each harmonious maze, 
Was taught to modulate the artful strain, 

6 Virgil. 



60 THE POEMS 

I fain would sing : — but ah ! I strive in vain. 
Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound : 
With trembling step, to join yon weeping train 
I haste, where gleams funereal glare around, 
And, mix'd with shrieks of woe, the knells of death 
resound. 

LXII. 

Adieu, ye lays, that Fancy's flowers adorn. 
The soft amusement of the vacant mind ! 
He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn. 
He, whom each virtue fir'd, each grace refin'd, 
Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind ! 
He sleeps in dust.' Ah, how shall I pursue 
My theme ! To heart-consuming grief resign'd. 
Here on his recent grave I fix my view. 
And pour my bitter tears. Ye flowery lays, adieu ! 

LXIII. 

Art thou, my Gregory, for ever fled ? 
And am I left to unavailing woe? 
When Fortime's storms assail this weary head, 
Where cares long since have shed untimely snow, 
Ah, now for comfort whither shall I go ! 
No more thy soothing voice my anguish cheers ; 
Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow. 
My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears: 
'Tis meet that I should mourn ; flow forth afresh, 
my tears ! 

t This excellent person died suddenly on the 10th of Feb- 
ruary, 1773. The conclusion of the poem was written a few 
days after. 



OF BEATTIE. 61 



RETIREMENT. 



When in the crimson cloud of even 

The Imgering light decays, 
And Hesper on the front of heaven 

His glittering gem displays ; 
Deep in the silent vale, unseen, 

Beside a luUing stream, 
A pensive youth of placid mien 

Indulg'd this tender theme : 

*' Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur pil'd 

High o'er the glimmering dale, 
Ye woods, along whose windings wild 

Murmurs the solemn gale — 
Where Melancholy strays forlorn, ^ 

And Woe retires to weep. 
What time the wan moon's yellow horn 

Gleams on the western deep — 

" To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms 

Ne'er drew ambition's eye, 
Scap'd a tumultuous world's alarms, 

To your retreats I fly. 
Deep in your most sequester'd bower 

Let me at last recline, 
Where Solitude, mild, modest power, 

Leans on her ivy'd shrine. 



62 THE POEMS 

" How shall I woo thee, matchless fair ! 

Thy heavenly smile how win ! 
Thy smile that smooths the brow of Care 

And stills the storm within. 
O wilt thou to thy favourite gi'ove 

Thine ardent votary bring, 
And bless his hours, and bid them move 

Serene, on silent wing ! 

" Oft let Remembrance soothe his mind 

With dreams of former days, 
When in the lap of Peace reclin'd 

He fram'd his infant lays ; 
When Fancy rov'd at large, nor Care, 

Nor cold Distrust alarm'd, 
Nor Envy with malignant glare 

His simple youth had harm'd. 

" 'Xwas then, O Solitude ! to thee 

His early vows were paid. 
From heart sincere, and warm, and free. 

Devoted to the shade. 
Ah, why did Fate his steps decoy 

In stormy paths to roam. 
Remote from all congenial joy ! — 

take the wanderer home. 

*■• Thy shades, thy silence now be mine, 
Thy charms my only theme ; 

My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine 
Waves o'er the gloomy stream: 



OK UEATTIE. 63 

Whence the scar'd owl on pinions gray 
Breaks from the rustling boughs, 

And down the lone vale sails away 
To more profound repose. 

" O while to thee the woodland pours 

Its wildly warbling song, 
And balmy from the bank of flowers 

The Zephyr breathes along, 
Let no rude sound invade from far, 

No vagrant foot be nigh, 
No ray from Grandeur's gilded car 

Flash on the startled eye. 

" But if some pilgrim through the glade 

Thy hallow'd bowers explore, 
O guard from harm his hoary head. 

And listen to his lore : 
For he of joys divine shall tell. 

That wean from earthly woe. 
And triumph o'er the mighty spell 

That chains this heart below. 

" For me, no more the path invites 

Ambition loves to tread ; 
No more I climb those toilsome heights 

By guileful Hope misled. 
Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more 

To INIirth's enlivening strain ; 
For present pleasure soon is o'er, 

And all the past is vain." 



64 THE POEMS 



ELEGY. 

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1758. 

Still shall unthinking man substantial deem 
The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream ? 
Till at some stroke of Fate the vision flies, 
And sad realities in prospect rise ; 
And, from Elysian slumbers rudely torn, 
The startled soul awakes, to think, and mourn. 

O ye, whose hours in jocund train advance, 
Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance, 
Who flowery plains in endless pomp survey, 
Glittering in beams of visionary day ; 
O yet, while Fate delays th' impending woe. 
Be rous'd to thought, anticipate the blow ; 
Lest, like the lightning's glance, the sudden ill 
Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill ; 
Lest, thus encompass'd with funereal gloom, 
Like me, ye bend o'er some untimely tomb, 
Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear, 
And half pronounce Heaven's sacred doom severe. 

Wise, beauteous, good ! O every grace combined, 
That charms the eye, or captivates the mind ! 
Fresh as the floweret opening on the morn, 
Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adoi-n ; 
Sweet as the downy-pinion'd gale that roves 
To gather fragrance in Arabian groves ; 



OF BEATTIE. Q5 

Mild as the melodies at close of day, 
That, heard remote, along the vale decay ! 
Yet, why with these compar'd ? What tints so fine, 
What sweetness, mildness, can be matcli'd with 
Why roam abroad, since recollection true [thine ? 
Restores the lovely form to fancy's view ? 
Still let me gaze, and every care beguile, 
Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces smile ; 
That soul-expressing eye, benignly bright, 
AVhere meekness beams ineffable delight ; 
That brow, where wisdom sits enthron'd serene, 
Each feature forms, and dignifies the mien : 
Still let me listen, while her words impart 
The sweet effusions of the blameless heart. 
Till all my soul, each tumult charm'd away, 
Yields, gently led, to Virtue's easy sway. 

By thee inspir'd, Virtue, age is young, 
And music warbles from the faltering tongue : 
Thy ray creative cheers the clouded brow. 
And decks the faded cheek with rosy glow, 
Brightens the joyless aspect, and supplies 
Pure heavenly lustre to the languid eyes. 
But when youth's living bloom reflects thy beams* 
Resistless on the view the glory streams ; 
Love, wonder, joy, alternately alarm. 
And beauty dazzles with angelic charm. 

Ah, whither fled ! ye dear illusions stay ! 
Lo, pale and silent lies the lovely clay. 
IIow are the roses on that cheek decay'd,. 
Which late the purple light of youth display'd I 
5 



66 THE POEMS 

Health on her form each sprightly grace bestow'd ; 
With life and thought each speaking feature glow'd ; 
Fair was the blossom, soft the vernal sky ; 
Elate with hope, we deem'd no tempest nigh : 
When lo, a whirlwind's instantaneous gust 
Left all its beauties withering in the dust. 

Cold the soft hand that sooth'd Woe's weary 
head, 
And quench'd the eye, the pitying tear that shed ; 
And mute the voice whose pleasing accents stole, 
Infusing balm, into the rankled soul ! 
O Death, why jirm with cruelty thy power, 
And spare the idle weed, yet lop the flower? 
Why fly thy shafts in lawless error driven ? 
Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven ? 
But peace, bold thought ! be still, my bursting 

heart ! 
We, not Ehza, felt the fatal dart. 

Escap'd the dungeon, does the slave complain, 
Nor bless the friendly hand that broke the chain ? 
Say, pines not Virtue for the lingering morn, 
On this dark wild condemn'd to roam forlorn, 
Where Reason's meteor-rays, with sickly glow, 
O'er the dun gloom a dreadful glimmering throw; 
Disclosing dubious to th' affrighted eye 
O'erwhelming mountains tottering from on high, 
Black billowy deeps in storms perpetual toss'd. 
And weary ways in wildering labyrinths lost ? 
O happy stroke, that bursts the bonds of clay. 
Darts through the rending gloom the blaze of day, 



OF BEATTIE. 07 

And wings the soul with boundless fliglit to soar, 
Where dangers threat, and fears alarm no more. 
Transporting thought ! here let me wipe away 
JThe tear of grief, and wake a bolder lay. 
But ah ! the swimmmg eyeVerflows anew ; 
Nor cheek the sacred drops to pity due : 
Lo, where in speechless, hopeless anguish, bend 
O'er her lov'd dust, the parent, brother, friend ! 
How vain the hope of man ! but cease thy strain, 
Nor sorr9i\''s dread solemnity profane ; 
Mix'd with ybn drooping mourners, on her bier 
In silence shed the sympathetic tear. 



ODE TO HOPE. 

I. 1. 
O THOU, who gladd'st the pensive soul. 
More than Aurora's smile the swain forlorn, 
Left all night long to mourn 
Where desolation frowns, and tempests howl ; 
And shrieks of woe, as intermits the storm, 
Far o'er the monstrous wilderness resound, 
And 'cross the gloom darts many a shapeless form. 
And many a fire-ey'd visage glares around ; 
O come, and be once more my guest ! 
Come, for thou oft thy suppliant's vow hast heard. 
And oft with smiles indulgent cheer'd, 
And sooth'd him into rest. 



68 THE rOEMS 



I. 2. 

Smit by thy rapture-beaming eye 

Deep flashing through the midnight of their mind, 

The sable bands combin'd, 

Where Fear's black banner bloats the troubled 

sky, 
Appall'd retire. Suspicion hides her head, 
Nor dares the obliquely gleaming eyeball raise : 
Despair, with gorgon-figur'd veil o'erspread, 
Speeds to dark Phlegethon's detested maze. 
Lo, startled at the heavenly ray, 
With speed unwonted Indolence upsprings, 
And, heaving, lifts her leaden wings, 
And sullen glides away. 



Ten thousand forms, by pining Fancy view'd, 

Dissolve. — Above the sparkling flood 

When Phoebus rears his awful brow, 

From lengthening lawn and valley low 

The troops of fen-born mists retire. 

Along the plain 

The joyous swain 

Eyes the gay villages again, 

And gold-illumin'd spire ; 

While, on the billowy ether borne. 

Floats the loose lay's jovial measure ; 

And light along the fairy Pleasure, 

Her green robes glittering to the morn, 



OF BEATTIE. 69 

Wantons on silken wing. And goblins all 
To the damp dungeon shrink, or hoary hall, 
Or westward, with impetuous flight, 
Shoot to the desert realms of their congenial night. 

n. 1. 

"When first on childhood's eager gaze 
Life's varied landscape, stretch'd immense 

around. 
Starts out of night profound, 
Thy voice incites to tempt th' untrodden maze. 
Fond he surveys thy mild maternal face, 
His bashful eye still kindling as he views, 
And, while thy lenient arm supports his pace, 
With beating heart the upland path pursues : 
The path that leads where, hung sublime. 
And seen afar, youth's gallant trophies, bright 
In Fancy's rainbow ray, invite 
His wingy nerves to climb. 

II. 2. 
Pursue thy pleasurable way. 
Safe in the guidance of thy heavenly guard, 
While melting airs are heard, 
And soft-ey'd cherub-forms around thee play — 
Simplicity, in careless flowers array'd, 
Prattling amusive in his accent meek ; 
And Modesty, half turning as afraid, 
The smile just dimpling on his glowing cheek ! 



70 THE POEMS 

Content and Leisure, hand in hand 

With Innocence and Peace, advance, and singj 

And Mirth, in many a mazy ring, 

Frisks o'er the flowery land. 

11. 3. 
Frail man, how various is thy lot below ! 
To-day though gales propitious blow. 
And Peace, soft gliding down the sky, 
Lead Love along, and Harmony, 
To-morrow the gay scene deforms : 
Then all around 
The thunder's sound 

Rolls rattling on through heaven's profound, 
And down rush all the storms. 
Ye days that balmy influence shed, 
When sweet childhood, ever sprightly. 
In paths of pleasure sported lightly, 
Whither, ah whither are ye fled ? 
Ye cherub train, that brought him on his way, 
O leave him not midst tumult and dismay ; 
For now youth's eminence he gains, 
But what a weary length of lingering toil 
remains ! 

III. 1. 
They shrink, they vanish into air. 
Now Slander taints with pestilence the gale ; 
And mingling cries assail, 
The wail of Woe, and groan of grim Despair. 



OF BEATTIE. 71 

A^o, wizard Envy from his serpent eye 

Darts quick destruction in each baleful glance ; 

Pride smiling stern, and yellow Jealousy, 

Frowning Disdain, and haggard Hate advance; 

Behold, amidst the dire array, 

Pale wither'd Care his giant-stature rears, 

And lo, his iron hand prepares 

To grasp its feeble prey. 

m. 2. 
Who now will guard bewilder'd youth 
Safe from the fierce assault of hostile rage? 
Such war can Virtue wage. 
Virtue that bears the sacred shield of Tnith ? 
Alas ! full oft on Guilt's victorious car 
The spoils of Virtue are in triumph borne ; 
While the fair captive, mark'd with many a scar, 
In long obscurity, oppress'd, forlorn, 
Resigns to tears her angel form. 
Ill-fated youth, then whither wilt thou fly ? 
No friend, no shelter now is nigh. 
And onward rolls the storm. 

III. 3. 
But whence the sudden beam that shoots along? 
Why shrink aghast the hostile throng? 
Lo, from amidst affliction's night 
Hope bursts all radiant on the sight ; 
Her words the troubled bosom soothe : 
" Why thus dismay'd ? 



72 THE POEMS 

Though foes invade, 

Hope ne'er is wanting to their aid 

Who tread the path of truth. 

'Tis I who smooth the rugged way, 

I who close the eyes of Sorrow, 

And with glad visions of to-morrow 

Repair the weary soul's decay. [heart, 

When Death's cold touch thrills to the freezing 

Dreams of heaven's opening glories I impart. 

Till the freed spirit springs on high 

In rapture too severe for weak mortality." 



ODE ON LORD HAY'S BIRTH-DAY. 

A Muse unskill'd in venal praise, 
Unstain'd with flattery's art. 
Who loves simplicity of lays 
Breath'd ardent from the heart, 
While gratitude and joy inspire. 
Resumes the long-unpractis'd lyre. 
To hail, O Hay, thy natal morn : 
No gaudy wreath of flowers she weaves, 
But twines with oak the laurel leaves. 
Thy cradle to adorn. 

For not on beds of gaudy flowers 
Thine ancestors reclin'd, 
Where sloth dissolves, and spleen devours 
All energy of mind. 



OF BEATTIE. 

To hurl the dart, to ride the car, 
To stem the deluges of war, 
And snatch from fate a sinking land ; 
Trample th' invaders' lofty crest. 
And from his grasp the dagger wrest. 
And desolating brand : 

'Twas this that rais'd th' illustrious line 

To match the first in fame ! 

A thousand years have seen it shine 

With unabated flame ; 

Have seen thy mighty sires appear 

Foremost in glory's high career, 

The pride and pattern of the brave : 

Yet pure from lust of blood their fire, 

And from ambition's wild desire, — 

They triumph'd but to save. 

The Muse with joy attends their way 
The vale of peace along; 
There to its lord the village gay 
Renews the grateful song. 
Yon castle's glittering towers contain 
No pit of woe, nor clanking chain. 
Nor to the suppliant's wail resound ; 
The open doors the needy bless, 
Th' unfriended hail their calm recess, 
And gladness smiles around. 

There to the sympathetic heart 
Life's best delights belong, 



74 TUE POEMS 

To mitigate the mourner's smart, 
To guard the weak from wroug. 
Ye sons of luxury, be wise : 
Know, happiness for ever flies 
The cold and solitary breast ; 
Then let the social instinct glow, 
And learn to feel another's woe, 
And in his joy be blest. 

O yet, ere Pleasure plant her snare 

For unsuspecting youth, 

Ere Flattery her song prepare 

To check the voice of Truth, 

O may his country's guardian power 

Attend the slumbering infant's bowery 

And bright, inspiring dreams impart ; 

To rouse th' hereditary fire. 

To kindle each sublime desire, 

Exalt, and warm the heart. 

Swift to reward a parent's fears, 

A parent's hopes to crown, 

Roll on in peace, ye blooming years. 

That rear him to renown ; 

When in his finish'd form and face 

Admiring multitudes shall trace 

Each patrimonial charm combin'd, 

The courteous yet majestic mien, 

The liberal smile, the look serene, 

The great and gentle mind. 



OF bp:attie. 75 

Yet, though thou draw a nation's eyes, 

And win a nation's love, 

Let not thy towering mind despise 

The village and the grove. 

No slander there shall wound thy fame, 

No ruffian take his deadly aim, 

No rival weave the secret snare : 

For Innocence with angel smile, 

Simplicity that knows no guile, 

And Love and Peace are there. 

When winds the mountain oak assail, 
And lay its glories waste, 
Content may slumber in the vale, 
Unconscious of the blast. 
Through scenes of tumult while we roam, 
The heart, alas ! is ne'er at home ; 
It hopes in time to roam no more ; 
The mariner, not vainly brave, 
Combats the storm, and rides the wave, 
To rest at last on shore. 

Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe, 
How vain your mask of state ! 
The good alone have joy sincere, 
The good alone are great : 
Great, when, amid the vale of peace. 
They bid the plaint of sorrow cease, 
And hear the voice of artless praise. 
As when along the trophied plain 
Sublime they lead the victor train, 
While shouting nations gaze. 



76 THE POEMS 

THE BATTLE OF THE PIGMIES AND 
CRANES. 

FROM THE PYGM^CO-GERANO-MACHIA OF ADDISON. 

The pigmy-people, and the feather'd train, 
Mingling in mortal combat on the plain, 
I sing. Ye Muses, favour my designs. 
Lead on my squadrons, and arrange the lines ; 
The flashing swords and fluttering wings display, 
And long bills nibbling in the bloody fray ; 
Cranes darting with disdain on tiny foes. 
Conflicting birds and men, and wear's unnumber'd 
woes. 

The wars and woes of heroes six feet long 
Have oft resounded in Pierian song. 
Who has not heard of Colchos' golden fleece, 
And Argo mann'd with all the flower of Greece? 
Of Thebes' fell brethren, Theseus stern of fiice. 
And Peleus' son, unrivall'd in the race ? 
^neas, founder of the Roman line. 
And William, glorious on the banks of Boyne ? 
Who has not learn'd to weep at Pompey's woes. 
And over Blackmore's epic page to doze ? 
'Tis I who dare attempt unusual strains. 
Of hosts unsung, and unfrequented plains ; 
The small shrill trump, and chiefs of little size, 
And armies rushing down tlie darken'd skies. 

Where India reddens to the early dawn, 
Winds a deep vale from vulgar eye withdrawn; 



OF BEATTIE. 77 

Bosom'd in groves the lowly region lies, 
And rocky mountains round the border rise. 
Here, till the doom of fate its fall decreed, 
The empire flourish'd of the pigmy-breed ; 
Here Industry perform'd, and Genius plann'd, 
And busy multitudes o'erspread the land. 
But now to these lone bounds if pilgrim stray, 
Tempting through craggy cliffs the desperate way, 
He finds the puny mansion fallen to earth. 
Its godlings mouldering on th' abandon'd hearth ; 
And starts, where small white bones are spread 

around, 
" Or little footsteps lightly print the ground ;" 
TVhile the proud crane her nest securely builds, 
Cliattering amid the desolated fields. 

But different fates befell her hostile rage, 
While reign'd, invincible through many an age, 
Thf dreaded pigmy. Rous'd by war's alarms. 
Forth rush'd the madding manikin to arms : 
Fierce to the field of death the hero flies ; [dies ; 
The faint crane fluttering flaps the ground, and 
And by the victor borne (o'erwhelming load !) 
With bloody bill loose-dangling marks the road. 
And oft the wily dwarf in ambush lay. 
And often made the callow young his prey ; 
With slaughter'd victims heap'd his board, and 

smil'd 
T' avenge the parent's trespass on the child. 
Oft, where his feather'd foe had rear'd her nest, 
And laid her eggs and household gods to rest, 



78 THE roEMS 

Burning for blood, in terrible array, 
The eighteen-inch militia burst their way ; 
All went to wreck ; the infant foeman fell, 
When scarce his chirping bill had broke the shell. 

Loud uproar hence, and rage of arms arose, 
And the fell rancour of encountering foes ; 
Hence dwarfs and cranes one general havoc 

whelms, 
And Death's grim visage scares the pigmy-realms. 
Not half so furious blaz'd the warlike fire 
Of mice, high theme of the Meonian lyre, 
When bold to battle march'd the accoutred frogs. 
And the deep tumult thunder'd through the bogs. 
Pierc'd by the javelin bulrush on the shore 
Here agonizing roll'd the mouse in gore ; 
And there the frog, (a scene full sad to see !) 
Shorn of one leg, slow sprawl'd along on three : 
He vaults no more with vigorous hops on high. 
But mourns in hoarsest croaks his destiny. 

And now the day of woe drew on apace, 
A day of woe to all the pigmy-race, 
When dwarfs were doom'd (but penitence was vain) 
To rue each broken egg, and chicken slain. 
For, roused to vengeance by repeated wrong. 
From distant climes the long-bill'd legions throng : 
From Strymon's lake, Cayster's plashy meads, 
And fens of Scythia, green with rustling reeds, 
From where the Danube winds through many a 
And Mareotis laves th' Egyptian ntrand, [land, 
To rendezvous they waft on eager wing, 
And wait assembled the returning spring. 



OF BEATTIE. 79 

Meanwhile they trim their plumes for length of 

flight, 
Whet their keen beaks and twisting elaws for fight ; 
Each crane the pigmy power in thought o'erturns, 
And every bosom for the battle burns. 

When genial gales the frozen air unbind, 
The screaming legions wheel, and mount the wind : 
Far in the sky they form their long array, 
And laud and ocean stretch'd immense survey 
Deep deep beneath ; and, triumphing in pride, 
With clouds and winds commix'd, innumerous ride : 
'Tis wild obstreperous clangour all, and heaven 
AVhirls in tempestuous undulation driven. 

Nor less th' alarm that shook the world below. 
Where march'd in pomp of war th' embattled foe ; 
Where manikins with haughty step advance, 
And grasp the shield, and couch the quivering 

lance : 
To right and left the lengthening lines they form, 
And i-ank'd in deep array await the storm. 

High in the midst the chieftain-dwarf was seen, 
Of giant stature, and imperial mien : 
Full twenty inches tall he strode along, 
And view'd with lofty eye the wondering throng : 
And while with many a scar his visage frown'd, 
Bared his broad bosom, rough with many a wound 
Of beaks and claws, disclosing to their sight 
The glorious meed of high heroic might : 
For with insatiate vengeance, he pui-sued. 
And never-ending hate, the feathery brood. 



80 THE P0EM3 

Unliappy tliey, confiding in the length 
Of horny beak, or talon's crooked strength, 
Who durst abide his rage ; the blade descends. 
And from the panting trunk the pinion rends : 
Laid low in dust the pinion waves no more, 
The trunk disfigur'd stiffens in its gore. 
What hosts of heroes fell beneath his force ! 
What heaps of chicken carnage mark'd his course ! 
How oft, Strymon, thy lone banks along. 
Did wailing Echo waft the funeral song ! 

And now from far the mingling clamours rise. 
Loud and more loud rebounding through the skies 
From skirt to skirt of heaven, with stormy sway, 
A cloud rolls on, and darkens all the day. 
Near and more near descends the dreadful shade ; 
And now in battailous array dis{)hiy'd. 
On sounding wings, and screaming in their ire. 
The cranes rush onward, and the fight require. 

The pigmy warriors eye with fearless glare 
The host thick swarming o'er the burden'd air ; 
Thick swarming now, but to their native land 
Doom'd to return a scanty straggling band. — 
When sudden, darting down the depth of heaven. 
Fierce on th' expecting foe the cranes are driven ; 
The kindling frenzy every bosom warms, 
The region echoes to the crash of arms ; 
Loose feathers from th' encountering armies fly, 
And in careering whirlwinds mount the sky. 
To breathe from toil upsprings the panting crane, 
Then with fresh vigour downward darts acrain. 



OF KEATTIE. 81 

Success in equal balance hovering liangs. 
Here, on the sharp spear, mad with mortal pangs, 
The bird transfix'd in bloody vortex whirls, 
Yet fierce in death the threatening talon curls : 
There, while the life-blood bubbles from his wound, 
With little feet the pigmy beats the ground ; 
Deep from his breast the short, short sob he draws. 
And dying curses the keen pointed cla,ws. 
Trembles the thundering field, thick cover 'd o'er 
With falchions, mangled wings, and streaming 

gore. 
And pigmy arms, and beaks of ample size. 
And here a claw, and there a finger lies. 

Encompass'd round with heaps of slaughter'd 

foes, 
All grim in blood the pigmy champion glows. 
And on th' assailing host impetuous springs. 
Careless of nibbling bills, and flapping wings ; 
And midst the tumult, wheresoe'er he turns. 
The battle with redoubled fury burns. 
From every side th' avenging cranes amain 
Throng, to o'erwhelm this terror of the plain : 
When suddenly (for such the will of Jove) 
A fowl enormous, sousing from above, 
The gallant chieftain clutch 'd, and, soaring high, 
(Sad chance of battle !) bore him up the sky. 
The cranes pursue, and clustering in a ring, 
Chatter triumphant round the captive king. 
But ah ! what pangs each pigmy bosom wrung. 
When, now to cranes a prey, on talons hung, 
6 



82 THE POEMS 

High in the clouds they saw their heljiless lord, 
His wriggling form still lessening as he soar'd ! 

Lo ! yet again, with unabated rage, 
In mortal strife the mingling hosts engage. 
The crane with darted bill assaults the foe, 
Hovering ; then wheels aloft to scape the blow : 
The dwarf in anguish aims the vengeful wound, 
But whirls in empty air the falchion round. 

Such was the scene, when midst the loud alarms 
Sublime th' eternal Thunderer rose in arms : 
When Briareus, by mad ambition driven, 
Heav'd Pelion huge, and hurl'd it high at heaven. 
Jove roll'd redoubling thunders from on high ; 
Mountains and bolts encounter'd in the sky ; 
Till one stupendous ruin whelm'd the crew, 
Their vast limbs weltering wide in brimstone blue. 

But now at length the pigmy legions yield, 
And wing'd with terror fly the fatal field. 
They raise a weak and melancholy wail. 
All in distraction scattering o'er the vale. 
Prone on their routed rear the cranes descend ; 
Their bills bite furious, and their talons rend ; 
With unrelenting ire they urge the chase, 
Sworn to exterminate the hated race. 
'Twas thus the pigmy name, once great in war, 
For spoils of conquer'd cranes renown'd afar, 
Perish'd. For, by the dread decree of Heaven, 
Short is the date to earthly grandeur given, 
And vain are all attempts to roam beyond 
Where fate has fix'd the everlasting bound. 



OF BEAT TIE. 83 

Fall'ii are the trophies of Assyrian power, 
And Persia's proud dommion is no more ; 
Yea, though to both superior far in fame. 
Thine empire, Latium, is an empty name. 

And now with lofty chiefs of ancient time 
The pigmy heroes roam th' Elysian clime. 
Or, if belief to matron-tales be due. 
Full oft, in the belated shepherd's view. 
Their frisking forms, in gentle green array'd, 
Gambol secure amid the moonlight glade. 
Secure, for no alarming cranes molest, 
And all their woes in long oblivion rest : 
Down the deep dale, and narrow winding way, 
They foot it featly, ranged in ringlets gay , 
'Tis joy and frolic all, where'er they rove, 
And Fairy-people is the name they love. 



THE HARES 



Yes, yes, I grant the sons of Earth 
Are doom'd to trouble from their birth. 
We all of sorrow have our share ; 
But say, is yours without compare ? 
Look round the world ; perhaps you '11 find 
Each individual of our kind 
Press'd with an equal load of ill. 
Equal at least. Look furtlier still, 



84 THE POEMS 

And own your lamentable case 
Is little short of happiness. 
In yonder hut that stands alone 
Attend to Famine's feeble moan ; 
Or view the couch where Sickness lies ; 
Mark his pale cheek, and languid eyes, 
His frame by strong convulsion torn, 
His struggling sighs, and looks forlorn. 
Or see, transfix'd with keener pangs. 
Where o'er his hoard the miser hangs ; 
Whistles the wind ; he starts, he stares, 
Nor Slumber's balmy blessing shares ; 
Despair, Remorse, and Terror roll 
Their tempests on his harass'd soul. 

But here perhaps it may avail 
T' enforce our reasoning with a tale. 

Mild was the morn, the sky serene, 
The jolly hunting band convene, 
The beagle's breast with ardour burns, 
The bounding steed the champaign spurns. 
And Fancy oft the game descries 
Through the hound's nose and huntsman's eyes. 

Just then, a council of the hares 
Had met, on national affairs. 
The chiefs were set ; while o'er their head 
The furze its frizzled covering spread. 
Long lists of grievances were heard. 
And general discontent appear'd. 
" Our harmless race shall every savage, 
Both quadruped and biped, ravage ? 



OF BEATTIE. 85 

Shall horses, hounds, and hunters still 

Unite their wits to work us ill ? 

The youth, his parent's sole delight, 

Whose tooth the dewy lawns invite, 

Whose pulse in every vein beats strong, 

Whose limbs leap light the vales along, 

May yet ere noontide meet his death, 

And lie dismember'd on the heath. 

For youth, alas, nor cautious age. 

Nor strength, nor speed, eludes their rage. 

In every field we meet the foe. 

Each gale comes fraught with sounds of woe ; 

The morning but awakes our fears, 

The evening sees us bath'd in tears. 

But must we ever idly grieve. 

Nor strive our fortunes to relieve ? 

Small is each individual's force : 

To stratagem be our recourse ! 

And then, from all our tribes combin'd. 

The murderer to his cost may find 

No foes are weak, whom Justice arms. 

Whom Concord leads, and Hatred warms. 

Be rous'd ; or liberty acquire. 

Or in the great attempt expire." 

He said no more, for in his breast 

Conflicting thoughts the voice suppress'd : 

The fire of vengeance seem'd to stream 

From his swoln eyeball's yellow gleam. 

And now the tumults of the war, 
Mingling confusedly from afar, 



86 THE POEMS 

Swell in the wind. Now louder cries 

Distinct of hounds and men arise. 

Forth from the brake, with beating heart, 

Th' assembled hares tumultuous start, 

And, every straining nerve on wing, 

Away precipitately spring. 

The hunting band, a signal given, 

Thick thundering o'er the plain are driven ; 

O'er cliiF abrupt, and shrubby mound, 

And river broad, impetuous bound : 

Now plunge amid the forest shades. 

Glance through the openings of the glades ; 

Now o'er the level valley sweep, 

Now with short steps strain up the steep ; 

While backward from the hunter's eyes 

The landscape like a torrent flies. 

At last an ancient wood they gain'd, 

By pruner's axe yet unprofan'd. 

High o'er the rest, by Nature rear'd, 

The oak's majestic boughs appear'd : 

Beneath, a copse of various hue 

In barbarous luxuriance grew. 

No knife had curb'd the rambling sprays, 

No hand had wove th' implicit maze. 

The flowering thorn, self-taught to wind. 

The hazel's stubborn stem entwin'd, 

And bramble twigs were wreath'd around, 

And rough furze crept along the ground. 

Here sheltering, from the sons of murther, 

The hares drag their tir'd limbs no further. 



OF BEATTIE. St 

But lo, the western wind ere long 
Was loud, and roar'd the woods among ; 
From rustling leaves, and crashing boughs 
The sound of woe and war arose. 
The hares distracted scour the grove, 
As terror and amazement drove ; 
But danger, wheresoe'er they fled, 
Still seem'd impending o'er their head. 
Now crowded in a grotto's gloom, 
All hope extinct, they wait their doom. 
Dire was the silence, till, at length, 
Even from despair deriving strength, 
With bloody eye and furious look, 
A daring youth arose and spoke. 

" wretched race, the scorn of Fate, 
Whom ills of every sort await ! 
O, curs'd with keenest sense to feel 
The sharpest sting of every ill ! 
Say ye, who, fraught with mighty scheme. 
Of liberty and vengeance dream. 
What now remains ? To what recess 
Shall we our weary steps address. 
Since Fate is evermore pursuing 
All ways and means to work our ruin ? 
Are we alone, of all beneath, 
Condemn'd to misery worse than death ? 
Must we, with fruitless labour, strive 
In misery worse than death to live ? 
No. Be the smaller ill our choice : 
So dictates Nature's powerful voice. 



88 THE POEMS 

Death's pang will in a moment cease ; 
And then, All hail, eternal peace ! " 
Thus while he spoke, his words impart 
The dire resolve to every heart. 

A distant lake in prospect lay, 
That, glittering in the solar ray, 
Gleam'd through the dusky trees, and shot 
A trembling light along the grot. 
Thither with one consent they bend, 
Their sorrows with their lives to end, 
While each, in thought, already hears 
The water hissing in his ears. 
Fast by the margin of the lake, 
Conceal'd within a thorny brake, 
A linnet sate, whose careless lay 
Amus'd the solitary day. 
Careless he sung, for on his breast 
Sorrow no lasting trace impress'd ; 
When suddenly he heard a sound 
Of swift feet traversing the ground. 
Quick to the neighbouring tree he flies, 
Thence trembling casts around his eyes ; 
No foe appear'd, his fears were vain ; 
Pleas'd he renews the sprightly strain. 

The hares, whose noise had caus'd his fright. 
Saw with surprise the linnet's flight. 
" Is there on earth a wretch," they said, 
" Whom our approach can strike with dread ? " 
An instantaneous change of thought 
To tumult every bosom wrought. 



OF BEATTIE. 39 

So fares the system-building sage, 
Who, plodding on from youth to age, 
At last on some foundation-dream 
Has rear'd aloft his goodly scheme, 
And prov'd his predecessors fools, 
And bound all nature by his rules ; 
So fares he in that dreadful hour. 
When injur'd Truth exerts her power, 
Some new phenomenon to raise, 
Which, bursting on his frighted gaze, 
From its proud summit to the ground 
Proves the whole edifice unsound. 

" Children," thus spoke a hare sedate, 
Who oft had known th' extremes of fate, 
" In slight events the docile mind 
May hints of good instruction find. 
That our condition is the worst, 
And we with such misfortunes curst 
As all comparison defy. 
Was late the universal cry ; 
When lo, an accident so slight 
As yonder little linnet's flight 
Has made your stubborn heart confess 
(So your amazement bids me guess). 
That all our load of woes and fears 
Is but a part of what he bears. 
Where can he rest secure from harms, 
Whom even a helpless hare alarms ? 
Yet he repines not at his lot. 
When past, the danger is forgot: 



90 THE rOEMS 

On yonder bough he trims his wings, 
And with unusual rapture sings : 
While we, less wretched, sink beneath 
Our lighter ills, and rush to death. 
No more of this unmeaning rage. 
But hear, my friends, the words of age. 

" When, by the winds of autumn driven. 
The scatter'd clouds lly cross the heaven, 
Oft have we, from some mountain's head, 
Beheld th' alternate light and shade 
Sweep the long vale. Here, hovering, lowers 
The shadowy cloud ; there downward pours. 
Streaming direct, a flood of day, 
Which from the view flies swift away : 
It flies, while other shades advance, 
And other streaks of sunshine glance. 
Thus chequer'd is the life below 
With gleams of joy and clouds of woe. 
Then hope not, while we journey on. 
Still to be basking in the sun : 
Nor fear, though now in shades ye mourn, 
That sunshine will no more retura. 
If, by your terrors overcome, 
Ye fly before th' approaching gloom. 
The rapid clouds your flight pursue, 
And darkness still o'ercasts your view. 
Who longs to reach the radiant plain 
Must onward urge his course amain ; 
For doubly swift the shadow flies, 
When 'gainst the gale the pilgrim plies. 



OF BEATTIE. 91 

At least be firm, and undismay'd 
Maintain your ground ; the fleeting shade 
Ere long spontaneous glides away, 
And gives you back th' enlivening ray. 
Lo, while I speak, our danger past ! 
No more the shrill horn's angry blast 
Howls in our ear ; the savage roar 
Of war and murder is no more. 
Then snatch the moment fate allows, 
Nor think of past or future woes." 
He spoke ; and hope revives ; the lake 
Tiiat instant one and all forsake. 
In sweet amusement to employ 
The present sprightly hour of joy. 

Now from the western mountain's brow, 
Compass'd with clouds of various glow, 
The sun a broader orb displays, 
And shoots aslope his ruddy rays. 
The lawn assumes a fresher green, 
And dewdrops spangle all the scene ; 
The balmy zephyr breathes along, 
The shepherd sings his tender song, 
With all their lays the groves resound, 
And falling waters murmur round. 
Discord and care were put to flight. 
And all was peace and calm delight. 



92 THE POEMS 



EPITAPH : 

BEING PART OF AN INSCKIPTION DESIGNED FOR A 

MONUMENT ERECTED BY A GENTLEMAN 

TO THE MEMORY OF HIS LADY. 

Farewell ! my best-belov'd, whose heavenly 

mind 
Genius with virtue, strength with softness join'd ; 
Devotion, undebas'd by pride or art, 
With meek simplicity, and joy of heart ; 
Though sprightly, gentle ; though polite, sincere ; 
And only of thyself a judge severe ; 
Unblam'd, unequall'd in each sphere of life, 
The tenderest daughter, sister, parent, wife. 
In thee their patroness th' afflicted lost ; 
Thy friends, their pattern, ornament, and boast ; 
And I — but ah, can words my loss declare. 
Or paint th' extremes of transport and despair ! 
O thou, beyond what verse or speech can tell, 
My guide, my friend, my best beloved, farewell I 



THE HERMIT. 

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, 
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, 
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, 
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove, 



OF BE.VTTIE. 93 

'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, 
While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began ; 
No more with himself or with nature at war, 
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man. 

"Ah ! why, all abandon'd to darkness and woe, 
Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall ? 
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, 
And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthrall. 
But, if pity mspire thee, renew the sad lay. 
Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to 
mourn ; 

soothe him, whose pleasures Hke thine pass 

away : 
Full quickly they pass — but they never return. 

" Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky. 
The Moon half extinguish'd her crescent displays : 
But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high 
She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. 
Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue 
The path that conducts thfee to splendour again : 
But man's faded glory what change shall renew ? 
Ah, fool ! to exult in a glory so vain ! 

" 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more ; 

1 mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you ; 
For morn is approaching your charms to restore, 
Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glittering with 

dew. 



94 THE POEMS OF BEATTIE. 

Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn ; 
Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save ; 
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn ! 
O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave ! 

" Twas thus, by the glare of false science betray'd, 
That leads, to bewilder, and dazzles, to blind. 
My thoughts wont to roam from shade onward to 

shade, 
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. 
' O pity, great Father of light,' then I cried, 
* Thy creature, who fain would not wander from 

thee ; 
Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride : 
From doubt and from darkness thou only canst 

free.' 

"And darkness and doubt are now flying away ; 
No longer 1 roam in conjecture forlorn : 
So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray. 
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. 
See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph de- 
scending, 
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom ! 
On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are 

blending. 
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb " 



PIECES REJECTED BY THE AUTHOR 

FROM THE LATER EDITIONS 

OF HIS POEMS. 



THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 

Fa.r in the depth of Ida's inmost grove, 
A scene for love and solitude design'd, 

Where flowery woodbines wild, by Nature wove, 
Form'dthe lone bower, the Royal Swain reclin'd. 

All up the craggy cliffs, that tower'd to heaven. 
Green wav'd the murmuring pines on every side; 

Save where, fair opening to the beam of even, 
A dale slop'd gradual to the valley wide. 

Echoed the vale with many a cheerful note ; 

The lowing of the herds resounding long, 
The shrilling pipe, and mellow horn remote, 

And social clamours of the festive throng. 

For now, low hovering o'er the western main, 
Where amber clouds begirt his dazzling throne, 

The sun with ruddier verdure deck'd the plain, 
And lakes, and streams, and spires triumphal 
shone. 

And many a band of ardent youths were seen ; 

Some into rapture fir'd by glory's charms. 
Or hurl'd the thundering car along the green. 

Or march'd embattled on in glittering arms. 
7 



98 THE POEMS 

Others more mild, in happy leisure gay, 

The darkening forest's lonely gloom explore, 

Or by Scamander's flowery margin stray, 
Or the blue Hellespont's resounding shore. 

But chief the eye to Ilion's glories turn'd, 

That gleam'd along th' extended champaign far, 

And bulwarks, in terrific pomp adorn'd, 

Where Peace sat smiling at the frowns of War. 

Rich in the spoils of many a subject-clime, 
In pride luxurious blaz'd th' imperial dome ; 

Tower'd mid th' encircling grove the fane sublime. 
And dread memorials mark'd the hero's tomb, 

Who from the black and bloody cavern led 
The savage stern, and sooth'd his boisterous 
breast ; 

Who spoke, and Science rear'd her radiant head, 
And brighten'd o'er the long benighted waste : 

Or, greatly daring in his country's cause, [sign'd, 
Whose heaven-taught soul the awful plan de- 

Whence Power stood trembling at the voice of laws, 
Whence soar'd on Freedom's wing th' ethereal 
mind. 

But not the pomp that royalty displays. 
Nor all the imperial pride of lofty Troy, 

Nor Virtue's triumph of immortal praise. 

Could rouse the languor of the lingering boy. 



OF BKATTIE. 99 

Abandon'd all to soft Enone's charms. 



He to oblivion doom'd the listless day ; 
Inglorious lull'd in Love's dissolving arms, [lay. 
While flutes lascivious breath'd th' enfeebling 

To trim the ringlets of his scented hair, 

To aim, insidious, Love's bewitching glance. 

Or cull fresh garlands for the gaudy fair. 
Or wanton loose in the voluptuous dance — 

These were his arts ; these won Enone's love, 
Nor sought his fetter'd soul a nobler aim ; 

Ah, why should beauty's smile those arts approve, 
Which taint with infamy the lover's flame ? 

Now, laid at large beside a murmuring spring. 
Melting he listen'd to the vernal song, 

And Echo listening wav'd her airy wing, 

While the deep winding dales the lays prolong. 

When slowly floating down the azure skies 
A crimson cloud flash'd on his startled sight ; 

Whose skirts, gay-sparkling with unnumber'd 
dyes, [light. 

Launch'd the long billowy trails of flickering 

That instant, hush'd was all the vocal grove, 
Hush'd was the gale, and every ruder sound. 

And strains aerial, warbling far above, 
Rung in the ear a magic peal profound. 



100 THE POEMS 

Near, and more near, the swimming radiance roU'd ; 

Along the mountains stream the lingering fires ; 
Sublime the groves of Ida blaze with gold, 

And all the heaven resounds with louder Ijres. 

The trumpet breath'd a note, and all in air 
The glories vanished from the dazzled eye ; 

And three ethereal forms, divinely fair, 

Down the steep glade were seen advancing nigh. 

The flowering glade fell level where they mov'd, 
O'erarching high the clustering roses hung, 

And gales from heaven on balmy pinion rov'd, 
And hill and dale with gratulation rung. 

The first with slow and stately step drew near ; 

Fix'd was her lofty eye, erect her mien ; 
Sublime in grace, in majesty severe. 

She look'd and mov'd a goddess and a queen. 

Her robe along the gale profusely stream'd. 
Light lean'd the sceptre on her bending arm, 

And round her brow a starry circlet gleam'd, 
Heightening the pride of each commanding 
charm. 

Milder the next came on, with artless grace, 
And on a javelin's quivering length reclin'd : 

T' exalt her mien she bade no splendour blaze, 
Nor pomp of vesture fluctuate on the wind. 



OF BEATTIE. 101 

Serene, though awful, on her brow the light 
Of heavenly wisdom shone ; nor rov'd her eyes, 

Save to the shadowy cliff's majestic height, 
Or the blue concave of th' involving skies. 

Keen were her eyes to search the inmost soul ; 

Yet Virtue triumph'd in their beams benign, 
And unpious Pride oft felt their dread control, 

When in fierce lightning flash'd the wrath divine.^ 

With awe and wonder gaz'd th' adoring swain ; 
His kindling cheek great Virtue's power con- 
fess'd ; 
But soon 'twas o'er ; for Virtue prompts in vain. 
Where Pleasure's influence numbs the nerveless 
breast. 

And now advanc'd the queen of melting joy. 
Smiling supreme in unresisted charms : 

Ah, then, what transports fir'd the trembling boy ! 
How throb'd his sickening frame with fierce 



Her eyes in liquid light luxurious swim. 
And languish with unutterable love : 

Heaven's warm bloom glows along each bright- 
ening limb. 
Where fluttering bland the veil's thin mantlings 



1 This is agreeable to the theology of Homer, who often 
represents Pallas as the executioner of divine vengeance. 



102 THE POEMS 

Quick, blushing as abash'd, she half withdrew : 
One hand a bough of flowering myrtle wav'd, 

One graceful spread, where, scarce conceal'd from 
view. 
Soft through the parting robe her bosom heav'd. 

" Offspring of Jove supreme ! belov'd of Heaven ! 

Aftend :" thus spoke the empress of the skies : 
" For know, to thee, high-fated prince, 'tis given 

Thro' the bright realms of Fame sublime to rise, 

'' Beyond man's boldest hope ; if nor the wiles 
Of Pallas triumph o'er th' ennobling thought. 

Nor Pleasure lure with artificial smiles 

To quaff the poison of her luscious draught. 

" When Juno's charms the prize of beauty claim, 
Shall aught on Earth, shall aught in Heaven 
contend ? 

Whom Juno calls to high triumphant fame, 
Shall he to meaner sway inglorious bend ? 

*' Yet lingering comfortless in lonesome wild, 
Where Echo sleeps mid cavern'd vales profound. 

The pride of Troy, Dominion's darling child, 
Pines while the slow hour stalks its sullen round. 

"Hear thou, of Heaven unconscious ! From the blaze 
Of glory, stream'd from Jove's eternal throne, 

Thy soul, O mortal, caught th' inspiring rays 
That to a god exalt earth's raptur'd son. 



OF BEATTIE. 103 

* Hence the bold wish, on boundless pinion borne, 
That fires, alarms, impels the maddening soul ; 

The hero's eye, hence, kindling into scorn, 
Blasts the proud menace, and defies control. 

" But, unimprov'd. Heaven's noblest boons are vain : 
No sun with plenty crowns th' uncultur'd vale ; 

Where green lakes languish on the silent plain, 
Death rides the billows of the western gale. 

" Deep in yon mountain's womb, where the dark cave 
Howls to the torrent's everlasting roar, 

Does the rich gem its flashy radiance wave ? 
Or flames with steady ray th' imperial ore ? 

" Toil deck'd with glittering domes yon champaign 
wide. 

And wakes yon grove-embosom'd lawns to joy, 
And rends the rough ore from the mountain's side. 

Spangling with starry pomp the thrones of Troy. 

" Fly these soft scenes ;— even now, with playful art, 
Love wreathes thy flowery ways with fatal snare — 

And nurse th' ethereal fire that warms thy heart: 
That fire ethereal lives but by thy care. 

" Lo, hovering near on dark and dampy wing, 
Sloth with stern patience waits the hour assign 'd, 

From her chill plume the deadly dews to fling 
That quench Heaven's beam, and freeze the 
cheerless mind. 



104 THE POEMS 

"Vain, then,th' enlivening sound of Fame's alarms, 
For Hope's exulting impulse prompts no more ; 

Vain even the joys that lure to Pleasure's arms ; 
The throb of transport is for ever o'er. 

"O who shall then to Fancy's darkening eyes 
Recall th' Elysian dreams of joy and light? 

Dim through the gloom the formless visions rise, 
Snatch'd instantaneous down the gulf of night. 

" Thou, who securely lull'd in youth's warm ray, 
Mark*st not the desolations wrought by Time, 

Be rous'd or perish ! Ardent for its prey 
Speeds the fell hour that ravages thy prime. 

"And, midst the horrors shrin'd of midnight storm, 
The fiend Oblivion eyes thee from afar. 

Black with intolerable frowns her form. 

Beckoning th' embattled whirlwinds into war. 

" Fanes, bulwarks, mountains, worlds, their tem- 
pest whelms; 

Yet Glory braves unmov'd th' impetuous sweep ; 
Fly then, ere hurl'd from life's delightful realms. 

Thou sink t' Oblivion's dark and boundless deep. 

" Fly then, where Glory points the path sublime : 
See her crown dazzling with eternal light ! 

'Tis Juno prompts thy daring steps to climb. 
And girds thy bounding heart with matchless 
might. 



OF BEATTIE. 105 

** Warm in the raptures of divine desire, 

Burst the soft chain that curbs th' aspiring mind, 

And fly, where Victory, borne on wings of fire, 
Waves her red banner to the rattling wind. 

•'Ascend the car. Indulge the pride of arms, 
Where clarions roll their kindling strains on high, 

Where the eye maddens to the dread alarms, 
And the long shout tumultuous rends the sky. 

" Plung'd in the uproar of the thundering field 
I see thy lofty arm the tempest guide ; 

Fate scatters lightning from thy meteor-shield, 
And Ruin spreads around the sanguine tide. 

" Go, urge the terrors of thy headlong car 

On prostrate Pride, and Grandeur's spoils o'er- 
thrown, 

While all amaz'd even heroes shrink afar. 
And hosts embattled vanish at thy frown. 

" When glory crowns thy godlike toils, and all 
The triumph's lengthening pomp exalts thy soul. 

When lowly at thy feet the mighty fall. 
And tyrants tremble at thy stern control ; 

"When conquering millions hail thy sovereign 
might. 

And tribes unknown dread acclamation join. 
How wilt thou spurn the forms of low delight ! 

For all the ecstasies of heaven are thine : 



106 ^ THE POEMS 

" For thine the joys that fear no length of days, 
Whose wide effulgence scorns all-mortal bound : 

Fame's trump in thunder shall announce thy praise, 
Nor bursting worlds her clarion's blast confound." 

The goddess ceas'd, not dubious of the prize : 
Elate she mark'd his wild and rolling eye, 

Mark'd his lip quiver, and his bosom rise. 

And his warm cheek suffus'd with crimson dye. 

But Pallas now drew near. Sublime, serene 
In conscious dignity, she view'd the swain ; 

Then, love and pity softening all her mien. 
Thus breathed with accents mild the solemn 
strain. 

*' Let those whose arts to fatal paths betray, 
The soul with passion's gloom tempestuous blind, 

And snatch from Reason's ken th' auspicious ray 
Truth darts from Heaven to guide th' exploring 
mind. 

" But Wisdom loves the calm and serious hour, 
When Heaven's pure emanation beams confess'd : 

Rage, ecstasy, alike disclaim her power ; 

She wooes each gentler impulse of the breast. 

" Sincere th' unalter'd bliss her charms impart. 
Sedate th' enlivening ardours they inspire : 

She bids no transient rapture thrill the heart, 
She wakes no feverish gust of fierce desire. 



OF BEATTIE. 107 

" Unwise, who, tossing on the watery way, 
All to the storm th' unfetter'd sail devolve : 

Man more unwise resigns the mental sway, 
Borne headlong on by passion's keen resolve. 

*' While storms remote but murmur on thine ear. 
Nor waves in ruinous uproar round thee roll, 

Yet, yet a moment check thy prone career, 
And curb the keen resolve that prompts thy soul. 

" Explore thy heart, that, rous'd by Glory's name. 
Pants all enraptur'd with the mighty charm — 

And, does Ambition quench each milder flame? 
And is it conquest that alone can warm ? 

" T' indulge fell Rapine's desolating lust. 

To drench the balmy lawn in streaming gore, 

To spurn the hero's cold and silent dust — 

Are these thy joys ? Nor throbs thy heart for 



" Pleas'd canst thou listen to the patriot's groan. 
And the wild wail of Innocence forlorn ? 

And hear th' abandon'd maid's last frantic moan. 
Her love for ever from her bosom torn ? 

" Nor wilt thou shrink, when Virtue's fainting breath 
Pours the dread curse of vengeance on thy head ? 

Nor when the pale ghost bursts the cave of death, 
To glare distraction on thy midnight bed ? 



108 THE POEMS 

" Was it for this, though bora to regal power, 
Kind Heaven to thee did nobler gifts consign, 

Bade Fancy's influence gild thy natal hour. 
And bade Philanthropy's applause be thine? 

" Theirs be the dreadful glory to destroy. 

And theirs the pride of pomp, and praise suborn 'd, 

Whose eye ne'er lighten'd at the smile of Joy, 
Whose cheek the tear of Pity ne'er adorn'd ; 

" Whose soul, each finer sense instinctive quell'd. 
The lyre's mellifluous ravishment defies ; 

Nor marks where Beauty roves the flowery field, 
Or Grandeur's pinion sweeps th'unbounded skies. 

" Hail to sweet Fancy's unexpressive charm ! 

Hail to the pure delights of social love ! * 
Hail, pleasures mild, that fire not while ye warm. 

Nor rack th' exulting frame, but gently move ! 

" But Fancy soothes no more, if stern Remorse 
With iron grasp the tortur'd bosom wring : 

Ah then, even Fancy speeds the venom's course. 
Even Fancy points with rage the maddening 
sting ! 

" Her wrath a thousand gnashing fiends attend. 
And roll the snakes, and toss the brands of hell : 

The beam of Beauty blasts ; dark Heavens impend 
Tottering ; and Music thrills with startling yell. 



OF BEATTIE. 109 

" What then avails, that with exhaustless store 
Obsequious Luxury loads thy glittering shrine '' 

What then avails, that prostrate slaves adore, 
And Fame proclaims thee matchless and divine : 

" What though bland Flattery all her arts apply ? 

Will these avail to calm th' infuriate brain ? 
Or will the roaring surge, when heav'd on high, 

Headlong hang, hush'd, to hear the piping swain ? 

" In health how fair, how ghastly in decay 

Man's lofty form ! how heavenly fair the mind 

Sublim'd by Virtue's sweet enlivening sway ! 
But ah ! to guilt's outrageous rule resign'd, 

" How hideous and forlorn ! when ruthless Care 
With cankering tooth corrodes the seeds of life, 

And deaf with passion's storms when pines Despair, 
And howling Furies rouse th' eternal strife. 

" 0, by thy hopes of joy that restless glow — 
Pledges of Heaven !— be taught by Wisdom's lore : 

With anxious haste each doubtful path forego, 
And life's wild ways with cautious fear explore. 

" Straight be thy course ; nor tempt the maze that 
leads [ceals : 

Where fell Remorse his shapeless strength con- 
And oft Ambition's dizzy cliff he treads, 

And slumbers oft in Pleasure's flowery vales. 



110 THE POEMS 

" Nor linger unresolv'd : Heaven prompts the choice, 
Save when Presumption shuts the ear of Pride : 

With grateful awe attend to Nature's voice, 
The voice of Nature Heaven ordain'd thy guide. 

** Warn'd by her voice the arduous path pursue, 
That leads to Virtue's fane a hardy band : 

What, though no gaudy scenes decoy their view, 
Nor clouds of fragrance roll along the land ? 

" What, though rude mountains heave the flinty 
way? 

Yet there the soul drinks light and life divine, 
And pure aerial gales of gladness play. 

Brace every nerve, and every sense refine. 

" Go, prince, be virtuous and be blest. The throne 
Rears not its state to swell the couch of Lust ; 

Nor dignify Corruption's daring son, 

T' o'erwhelm his humbler brethren of the dust. 

" But yield an ampler scene to Bounty's eye. 
And ampler range to Mercy's ear expand ; 

And 'midst admiring nations, set on high 

Virtue's fair model, fram'd by Wisdom's hand. 

"' Go then : the moan of Woe demands thine aid ; 

Pride's licens'd outrage claims thy slumbering ire ; 
Pale Genius roams the bleak neglected shade, 

And battening Avarice mocks his tuneless lyre. 



OF BEATTIE. Ill 

" Even Nature pines by vilest chains oppress'd ; 

Til' astonish'd kingdoms crouch to Fashion's nod; 
ye pure inmates of the gentle breast, 

Truth, Freedom, Love, O where is your abode ? 

" O yet once more shall Peace from heaven return. 
And young Simplicity with mortals dwell ! 

Nor Innocence th' august pavilion scorn, 
Nor meek Contentment fly the humble cell ! 

" Wilt thou, my prince, the beauteous train implore, 
Midst earth's forsaken scenes once more to bide ? 

Then .shall the shepherd sing in every bower. 
And Love with garlands wreathe the domes of 
Pride. 

" The bright tear starting in th' impassion'd eyes 
Of silent gratitude ; the smiling gaze 

Of gratulation, faltering while he tries 

With voice of transport to proclaim thy praise ; 

" Th' ethereal glow that stimulates thy frame, 
When all th' according powers harmonious move, 

And wake to energy each social aim, 
Attun'd spontaneous to the will of Jove ; 

" Be these, O man, the triumphs of thy soul ; 

And all the conqueror's dazzling glories slight, 
That meteor-like o'er trembling nations roll. 

To sink at once in deep and dreadful night. 



112 THE POEMS 

" Like thine, yon orb's stupendous glories burn 
With genial beam ; nor at th' approach of even, 

In shades of horror leave the world to mourn, 
But gild with lingering light th' empurpled 
heaven." 

Thus while she spoke, her eye, sedately meek, 
Look'd the pure fervour of maternal love : 

No rival zeal intemperate flush'd her cheek — 
Can Beauty's boast the soul of Wisdom move ? 

Worth's noble pride can Envy's leer appall ? 

Or staring Folly's vain applauses soothe ? 
Can jealous Fear Truth's dauntless heart enthrall ? 

Suspicion lurks not in the heart of Truth. 

And now the shepherd rais'd his pensive head : 
Yet unresolv'd and fearful rov'd his eyes. 

Scared at the glances of the awful maid ; 

For young unpractis'd guilt distrusts the guise 

Of shameless Arrogance. His wavering breast. 
Though warm'd by Wisdom, own'd no constant 

While lawless Fancy roam'd afar, unblest [fire ; 
Save in th' oblivious lap of soft Desire. 

When thus the queen of soul-dissolving smiles : 
" Let gentle fates my darling prince attend : 

Joyless and cruel are the warrior's spoils, 
Dreary the path stern Virtue's sons ascend. 



OF BEATTIE. 113 

** Of human joy full short is the career, 

And the dread verge still gains upon your sight, 

While idly gazing, far beyond your sphere, 
Ye scan the dream of unapproach'd delight ; 

" Till every sprightly hour and blooming scene 
Of life's gay morn unheeded glides away, 

And clouds of tempests mount the blue serene, 
And storm and ruin close the troublous day. 

" Thou still exult to hail the present joy. 

Thine be the boon that comes unearn'd by toil ; 

No forward vain desire thy bliss annoy, 

No flattering hope thy longing hours beguile. 

*'Ah ! why should man pursue the charms of Fame, 

For ever luring, yet forever coy ? 
Light as the gaudy rainbow's pillar'd gleam, 

That melts illusive from the wondering boy. 

" What though her throne irradiate many a clime. 
If hung loose-tottering o'erth' unfathom'd tomb ? 

What though her mighty clarion, rear'd sublime, 
Display the imperial wreath and glittering 
plume ? 

" Can glittering plume, or can the imperial wreath. 
Redeem from unrelenting fate the brave ? 

What note of triumph can her clarion breathe, 
T' alarm th' eternal midnight of the "rrave ? 
8 



114 THE POEMS 

" That night draws on : nor will the vacant hour 

Of expectation linger as it flies ; 
Nor Fate one moment unenjoy'd restore : 

Each moment's flight how precious to the wise ! 

" O shun th' annoyance of the bustling throng, 
That haunt with zealous turbulence the great ; 

There coward Office boasts th' unpunish'd wrong, 
And sneaks secure in insolence of state. 

" O'er fancied injury Suspicion pines. 

And in grim silence gnaws the festering wound ; 

Deceit the rage-embitter'd smile refines. 

And Censure spreads the viperous hiss around. 

" Hope not, fond prince, though Wisdom guard 
thy throne, [rous aim, 

Though Truth and Bounty prompt each gene- 
Though thine the palm of peace, the victor's crown. 

The Muse's rapture, and the patriot's flame — 

" Hope not, though all that captivates the wise. 
All that endears the good exalt thy praise, 

Hope not to taste repose ; for Envy's eyes 
At fairest worth still point their deadly rays. 

" Envy, stern tyrant of the flinty heart, 

Can aught of Virtue, Truth, or Beauty charm ? 

Can soft Compassion thrill with pleasing smart, 
Repentance melt, or Gratitude disarm ? 



OF BEATTIE. 115 

"Ah 110. AVhere Winter Scythia's waste enchains, 
And monstrous shapes roar to the ruthless storm, 

Not Phoebus' smile can cheer the dreadful plains, 
Or soil accurs'd with balmy life inform. 

" Then, Envy, then is thy triumphant hour, 
When mourns Benevolence his baffled scheme ; 

When Insult mocks the clemency of Power, 
And loud Dissension's livid firebrands gleam ; 

" When squint-ey'd Slander plies th' unhallow'd 
tongue. 

From poison'd maw when Treason weaves his 
And Muse apostate (infamy to song ! ) [line. 

Grovels, low-muttering, at Sedition's shrine. 

" Let not my prince forego the peaceful shade, 
The whispering grove, the fountain, and the 
plain : 

Power, with th' oppressive weight of pomparray'd, 
Pants for simplicity and ease in vain. 

" The yell of frantic Mirth may stun his ear. 
But frantic Mirth soon leaves the heart forlorn ; 

And Pleasure flies that high tempestuous sphere ; 
Far different scenes her lucid paths adorn. 

" She loves to wander on th' untrodden lawn, 
Or the green bosom of reclining hill, 

Sooth'd by the careless warbler of the dawn, 
Or the lone plaint of ever-murmuring rill. 



116 THE POEMS 

" Or from the mountain-glade's aerial brow, 
While to her song a thousand echoes call, 

Marks the wild woodland wave remote below, 
Where shepherds pipe unseen, and waters fall, 

" Her influence oft the festive hamlet proves. 
Where the Jiigh carol cheers th' exulting ring ; 

And oft she roams the maze of wildering groves, 
Listening th' unnumber'd melodies of spring* 

" Or to the long and lonely shore retires ; 

What time, loose-glimmering to the lunar beam, 
Faint heaves the slumberous wave, and starry fires 

Gild the blue deep with many a lengthening 
gleam. 

" Then, to the balmy bower of Rapture borne. 
While strings self-warbling breathe Elysiaurest, 

Melts in delicious vision, till the morn 

Spangle with twinkling dew the flowery waste. 

" The frolic Moments, purple-pinion'd, dance 
Around, and scatter roses as they play ; 

And the blithe Graces, hand in hand, advance, 
Where, with her lov'd compeers, she deigns to 
stray ; 

" Mild Solitude, in veil of russet dye, 

Her sylvan spear with moss-grown ivy bound ; 

And Indolence, with sweetly-languid eye, 

And zoneless robe that trails along the ground ; 



OF BEATTIE. 117 

** But chiefly Love — thou, whose gentle mind 
Each soft indulgence Nature fram'd to share, 

Pomp, wealth, renown, dominion, all resign'd, 
O haste to Pleasure's bower, for Love is there ! 

" Love, the desire of gods ! the feast of Heaven ! 

Yet to Earth's favour'd offspring not denied : 
Ah, let not thankless man the blessing given 

Enslave to Fame, or sacrifice to Pride ! 

** Nor I from Virtue's call decoy thine ear ; 

Friendly to Pleasure are her sacred laws; 
Let Temperance' smile the cup of gladness cheer ; 

That cup is death, if he withhold applause. 

" Far from thy haunt be Envy's baneful sway, 
And Hate, that works the harass'd soul to storm : 

But woo Content to breathe her soothing lay, 
And charm from Fancy's view each angry form. 

" No savage joy th' harmonious hours profane ! 

Whom Love refines, can barbarous tumult 
please ? 
Shall rage of blood pollute the sylvan reign ? 

Shall Leisure wanton in the spoils of Peace ? 

" Free let the feathery race indulge the song, 
Inhale the liberal beam, and melt in love ; 

Free let the fleet hind bound her hills along. 
And in pure streams the watery nations rove. 



118 THE POEMS 

" To joy in Nature's universal smile 

Well suits, man, thy pleasurable sphere ; 

But why should Virtue doom thy years to toil ? 
Ah, why should Virtue's law be deem'd severe ? 

" What meed. Beneficence, thy care repays ? 

What, Sympathy, thy still returning pang ? 
And why his generous arm should Justice raise, 

To dare the vengeance of a tyrant's fang ? 

" From thankless spite no bounty can secure ; 

Or froward wish of discontent fulfil. 
That knows not to regret thy bounded power. 

But blames with keen reproach thy partial will. 

" To check th' impetuous all-involving tide 
Of human woes, how impotent thy strife ! 

High o'er thy mounds devouring surges ride, 
Nor reck thy baffled toils, or lavish'd life. 

" The bower of bliss, the smile of love be thine, 
Unlabour'd ease, and leisure's careless dream: 

Such be their joys, who bend at Venus' shrine, 
And own her charms beyond compare supreme." 

Warm'd as she spoke, all panting with delight, 
Her kindling beauties breathed triumphant • 
bloom ; 

And Cupids flutter'd round in circlets bright. 
And Flora pour'd from all her stores perfume. 



OF BEATTIE. 119 

" Thine be the prize," exclaim'd th' enraptured 
youth, 
" Queen of unrivall'd charms, and matchless 

joy!" 

O blind to fate, felicity, and truth ! — 

But such are they whom Pleasure's snares decoy. 

The sun was sunk ; the vision was no more ; 

Night downward rush'd tempestuous, at the 
frown 
Of Jov e's awaken'd wrath ; deep thunders roar. 

The forests howl afar, and mountains groan ; 

And sanguine meteors glare athwart the plain ; 

With horror's scream the Ilian towers resound ; 
Raves the hoarse storm along the bellowing main, 

And the strong earthquake rends the shudder- 
ing ground. 



120 THE POEMS 



ODE TO PEACE. 

I. 1. 

Peace, heaven-descended maid! whose power- 
ful voice 
From ancient darkness call'd the morn, 
And hush'd of jarring elements the noise. 
When Chaos, from his old dominion torn, 
With all his bellowing throng, 
Far, far was hurl'd the void abyss along ; 
And all the bright angelic choir 
Striking through all their ranks th' eternal lyre, 
Pour'd in loud symphony th' impetuous strain ; 
And every fiery orb and planet sung, 
And wide, through night's dark solitary reign. 
Rebounding long and deep the lays triumphant 

rung. 

I. 2. 

O whither art thou fled, Saturnian age ! 

Roll round again, majestic years ! 

To break the sceptre of tyrannic rage, 

From Woe's wan cheek to wipe the bitter tears, 

Ye years, again roll round ! 

Hark ! from afar what desolating sound, 



OF BKATTIK. 121 

While echoes load the sighing gales, 

With dire presage the throbbing heart assails ! 

Murder, deep-rous'd, with all the whirlwind's 

haste 
And roar of tempest, from her cavern springs, 
Her tangled serpents girds around her waist. 
Smiles ghastly-fierce, and shakes her gore-distil- 
ling wings. 

I. 3. 
The shouts redoubling rise 
In thunder to the skies. 
The Nymphs disorder'd dart along, 
Sweet Powers of solitude and song, 
Stunn'd with the horrors of discordant sound, 
And all is listening trembling round. 
Torrents far heard amid the waste of night. 
That oft have led the wanderer right, 
Are silent at the noise. 
The mighty ocean's more majestic voice 
Drown'd in superior din is heard no more ; 
The surge in silence seems to sweep the foamy shore. 

II. 1. 

The bloody banner streaming in the air, 
Seen on yon sky-mix'd mountain's brow, 
The mingling multitudes, the madding car. 
Driven in confusion to the plain below, 
War's dreadful lord proclaim : 
Bursts out by frequent fits th' expansive flame : 



122 THE POEMS 

Snatch'd in tempestuous eddies flies 
The surging smoke o'er all the darken'd skies : 
The cheerful face of heaven no more is seen, 
The bloom of morning fades to deadly pale, 
The bat flits transient o'er the dusky green. 
And night's foul birds along the sullen twilight sail. 

II. 2. 
Involv'd in fire-streak'd gloom the car comes on: 
The rushing steeds grim Terror guides : 
His forehead writh'd to a relentless frown, 
Aloft the angry Power of battles rides. 
Grasp'd in his mighty hand, 
A mace tremendous desolates the land ; 
The tower rolls headlong down the steep. 
The mountain shrinks before its wasteful sweep ; 
Chill horror the dissolving limbs invades ; 
Smit by the blasting lightning of his eyes, 
A deeper gloom invests the howling shades, 
Stript is the shatter'd grove, and every verdure dies. 

11. 3. 
How startled Frenzy stares. 
Bristling her ragged hairs ! 
Revenge the gory fragment gnaws ; 
See, with her griping vulture claws 
Imprinted deep, she rends the mangled wound ! 
Hate whirls her torch sulphureous round ; 
The shrieks of agony and clang of arms, 
Reecho to the hoarse alarms 



OF BEATTIE. 123 

Her trump terrific blows. 
Disparting from behind, the clouds disclose 
Of kingly gesture a gigantic form, 
That with his scourge sublime rules the careering 

storm. 

III. 1. 
Ambition, outside fair ! within as foul 
As fiends of fiercest heart below, 
Who ride the hurricanes of fire that roll 
Their thundering vortex o'er the realms of woe. 
Yon naked waste survey, — 
Where late was heard the flute's mellifluous 

lay; 
Where late the rosy-bosom'd hours 
In loose array danc'd lightly o'er the flowers ; 
Where late the shepherd told his tender tale, 
And waken'd by the murmuring breeze of 

morn, 
The voice of cheerful Labour fill'd the dale, 
And dove-eyed Plenty smil'd, and wav'd her 

liberal horn. — 

m. 2. 
Yon ruins, sable from the wasting flame, 
But mark the once resplendent dome ; 
The frequent corse obstructs the sullen stream, 
And ghosts glare horrid from the sylvan gloom. 
How sadly silent all — 

Save where, outstretch'd beneath yon hanging 
wall, 



124 THE POEMS 

Pale Famine moans with feeble breath, 
And Anguish yells, and grinds his bloody teeth — ■ 
Though vain the Muse, and every melting lay, 
To touch thy heart, unconscious of remorse, 
Know, monster, know, thy hour is on the way! 
I see, I see the years begin their mighty course. 

HI. 3. 
What scenes of glory rise 
Before my dazzled eyes ! 
Young Zephyrs wave their wanton wings, 
And melody celestial rings ; 
All blooming on the lawn the nymphs advance. 
And touch the lute, and range the dance ; 
And the blithe shepherds on the mountain's 

side. 
Array 'd in all their rural pride. 
Exalt the festive note. 
Inviting Echo from her inmost grot — 
But ah ! the landscape glows with fainter light: 
It darkens, swims, and flies for ever from my sight. 

IV. 1. 
Illusions vain ! Can sacred Peace reside 
Where sordid gold the breast alarms. 
Where Cruelty inflames the eye of Pride, 
And Grandeur wantons in soft Pleasure's arms ? 
Ambit^p, these are thine ! 
These from the soul erase the form divine, 
And quench the animating fire. 



OF BEATTIE. 125 

That warms the bosom with sublime desire. 
Thence the relentless heart forgets to feel, 
And Hatred triumphs on th' o'erwhelming brow, 
And midnight Rancour grasps the cruel steel, 
Blaze the blue flames of death, and sound tl e 
shrieks of Woe. 

IV. 2. 
From Albion fled, thy once belov'd retreat, 
What region brightens in thy smile, 
Creative Peace, and underneath thy feet 
Sees sudden flowers adorn the rugged soil ? 
In bleak Siberia blows. 

Waked by thy genial breath, the balmy rose ? 
Wav'd over by thy magic wand 
Does hfe inform fell Lybia's burning sand ? 
Or does some isle thy parting flight detain. 
Where roves the Indian through primeval 

shades. 
Haunts the pure pleasures of the sylvan reign. 
And led by reason's light the path of nature treads: 

IV. 3. 
On Cuba's utmost steep *, 
Far leaning o'er the deep. 
The Goddess' pensive form was seen. 
Her robe, of Nature's varied green, 

1 This alludes to the discover}' of America bv the Spaniards 
under Columbus. Those ravager.s are said to have made their 
first descent '^u the islands in the Gulf of Florida, of vvhicb 
Cuba is one 



126 THE POEMS 

Wav'd on the gale ; grief dimm'd her radiant 

eyes; 
Her bosom heav'd with boding sighs. 
She ey'd the main ; where, gaining on the view, 
Emerging from th* ethereal blue, 
Midst the dread pomp of war, 
Blaz'd the Iberian streamer from afar. 
She saw ; and, on refulgent pinions borne, 
Slow wuig'd her way subhme, and mingled with 
the morn. 



THE TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY. 

Memory, be still ! why throng upon the thought 
These scenes so deeply-stain'd with Sorrow's 
dye? 

Is there in all thy stores no cheerful draught, 
To brighten yet once more in Fancy's eye ? 

Yes — from afar a landscape seems to rise, 
Embellish'd by the lavish hand of Spring ; 

Thin gilded clouds float lightly o'er the skies, 
And laughing Loves disport on fluttering wing. 

How blest the youth in yonder valley laid ! 

What smiles in every conscious feature play ! 
While to the murmurs of the breezy glade 

His merry pipe attunes the rural lay. 



OF BEATTIE. 127 

Hail Innocence ! whose bosom, all serene, 
Feels not as yet th' internal tempest roll ; 

G ne'er may Care distract that placid mien, 

Ne'er may tlie shades of Doubt o'erwhelm thy 
soul ! 

Vain wish ! for lo, in gay attire conceal'd, 

Yonder she comes — the heart-inflaming fiend ! 

Will no kind power the helpless stripling shield ? 
Swift to her destin'd prey see Passion bend ! 



O smile accurs'd, to hide the worst designs ! 

Now with blithe eye she wooes him to bt' blest. 
While round her arm unseen a serpent twines — 

And lo, she hurls it hissing at his breast ! 



And, instanl, lo, his dizzy eyeball swims 

Ghastly, and reddening darts a frantic glare ; 

Pain with strong grasp distorts his writhing limbs. 
And Fear's cold hand erects his frozen hair ! 

Is this, O life, is this thy boasted prime? 

And does thy spring no happier prospect yield? 
Why should the sunbeam paint thy glittering clime, 

When the keen mildew desolates the field ? 

How memory pains ! Let some gay theme beguile 
The musing mind, and soothe to soft delight ; 

Ye images of woe, no more recoil ; 

Be life's past scenes wrapt in oblivious night. 



128 THE POEMS 

Now when fierce Winter, arm'd witli wasteful 
power, 

Heaves tlie wild deep tliat thunders from afar, 
How sweet to sit in this sequester'd bower, 

To liear, and but to hear, the mingling war ! 

Ambition here displays no gilded toy 

That tempts on desperate wing the soul to rise, 
Nor Pleasure's paths to wilds of woe decoy, 

Nor Anguish lurks in Grandeur's proud disguise. 

Oft has Contentment cheer'd this lone abode 
With the mild languish of her smiling eye ; 

Here Health in rosy bloom has often glow'd. 
While loose-robed Quiet stood enamour'd by. 

Even the storm lulls to more profound repose ; 

The storm these humble walls assails in vain ; 
The shrub is shelter'd when the whirlwind blows. 

While the oak's mighty ruin strows the plain. 

Blow on, ye winds! Thine, Winter, be the skies. 
And toss th' infuriatesurge,and vales lay waste; 

Nature thy temporary rage defies ; 

To her relief the gentler Seasons haste. 

Thron'd in her emerald car see Spring appear ! 

(As Fancy wills, the landscape starts to view ;) 
Her emerald-car the youthful Zephyrs bear, 

Fanning her bosom with their pinions blue. 



OF bp:attie. 129 

Around the jocund Hours are fluttering seen ; 

And lo, her rod the rose-lipp'd power extends, 
And lo, the lawns are deck'd in living green, 

And Beauty's bright-ey'd train from heaven 



Haste, happy days, and make all nature glad — 
But will all nature joy at your return ? 

O, can ye cheer pale Sickness' gloomy bed, 
Or dry the tears that bathe th' untimely urn ? 

Will ye one transient ray of gladness dart 

Where groans the dungeon to the captive's wail ? 

To ease tir'd Disappointment's bleeding heart. 
Will all your stores of softening balm avail? 

When stern Oppression in his harpy-fangs [bears. 
From Want's weak grasp the last sad morsel 

Can ye allay the dying parent's pangs, 

Whose infant craves relief with fruitless tears ? 

For ah ! thy reign, Oppression, is not past : [rends ? 

Who from the shivering limbs the vestment 
Who lays the once-rejoicing village waste, 

Bursting the ties of lovers and of friends ? 

But hope not, Muse, vainglorious as thou art. 
With the weak impulse of thy humble strain, 

Hope not to soften Pride's obdurate heart. 
When Errol's bright example shines in vain. 
9 



130 THE POEMS 

Then cease the theme. Turn, Fancy, turn thine eye, 
Thy weeping eye, nor further urge thy flight ; 

Thy haunts, alas ! no gleams of joy supply, [night. 
Or transient gleams, that flash, and sink in 

Yet fain the mind its anguish would forego ; 

Spread then, historic Muse, thy pictur'd scroll ; 
Bid thy great scenes in all their splendour glow. 

And rouse to thought sublime th' exulting soul. 

What mingling pomps rush on th' enraptur'd gaze ! 

Lo, where the gallant navy rides the deep ! 
Here glittering towns their spiry turrets raise, 

There bulwarks overhang the shaggy steep. 

Bristling with spears, and bright with burnish'd 
shields, 

Th' embattled legions stretch their long array ; 
Discord's red torch, as fierce she scours the fields, 

With bloody tincture stains the face of day. 

And now the hosts in silence wait the sign ; 

Keen are their looks whom Liberty inspires ; 
Quick as the Goddess darts along the line. 

Each breast impatient burns with noble fires. 

Her form how graceful ! In her lofty mien 
The smiles of love stern wisdom's frown control ; 

Her fearless eye, determin'd though serene. 
Speaks the great purpose, and tli' unconquer'd 
soul. 



OF BEATTIi:. 131 

Mark, wLere Ambition leads the adverse band, 
Each feature fierce and haggard, as with pain ! 

With menace loud he cries, while from his hand 
lie vainly strives to wipe the crimson stiiin. 

Lo, at his call, impetuous as the stoi'ras, 

Headlong to deeds of death the hosts are driven ; 

Hatred to madness wrought, each face deforms. 
Mounts the black whirlwind, and involves the- 
heaven. 

Now, Virtue, now thy powerful succour lend. 
Shield them for Liberty who dare to die — 

Ah, Liberty ! will none thy cause befriend ! 
Are those thy sons, thy generous'sons, that fly ! 

Not Virtue's self, when Heaven its aid denies. 
Can brace the loosen'd nerves, or warm the heart ; 

Not Virtue's self can still the burst of sighs, 
When festers in the soul Misfortune's dart. 

See, where by terror and despair dismay'd. 
The scattering legions pour along the plain ! 

Ambition's car, in bloody spoils array'd, [rein. 
Hews its broad way, as Vengeance guides the 

But who is he, that, by yon lonely brook 
With woods o'erhung and precipices rude,^ 

Lies all abandon'd, yet with dauntless look 

Sees streaming from his breast the purple flood r 

1 Stich, according to Plutarch, wiis the scene of Brutus's 
death. 



132 THE rOEMS 

Ah, Brutus ! ever thine be Virtue's te^r ! 

Lo, his dim eyes to Liberty he turns, 
As sc^irce-supported on her broken spear 

O'er her expiring son the Goddess mourns. 

Loose to the wind her azure mantle flies ; 

Fi-om her dishevell'd loeks she rends the 
plume ; 
No lustre lightens in her weeping eyes. 

And on her tear-stain'd cheek no roses bloom. 

Memnvhile the world, Ambition, owns thy sway; 

Fame's loudest trumpet labours with thy name; 
For thee the Muse awakes her sweetest lay, 

And Flattery bids for thee her altars flame. 

Nor in life's lofty bustling sphere alone, 

The sphere where monarchs and where heroes 
toil, 
Sink Virtue's sons beneath Misfortune's frown. 
While Guilt's thrill'd bosom leaps at Pleasure's 
smile. 

Full oft, where Solitude and Silence dwell, 
Far, far remote amid the lowly plain, 

Resounds the voice of Woe from Virtue's cell: 
Such is man's doom, and Pity weeps in vfiin. 

Still grief recoils— How vainly have I strove 
Thy power, O Melancholy, to withstand 1 

Tir'd I submit ; but yet, O yet remove, 
Or ease the pressure of thy heavy hand ! 



OF BEATTIE. 133 

Yet for awhile let the bewilder'd soul 

Find in society relief from woe ; 
O yield awhile to Friendship's soft control ; 

Some, respite, Friendship, wilt thou not bestow ! 

Come, then. Philander, whose exalted mind 
Looks down from far on all that charms the 
great; 

For thou canst bear, unshaken and resign'd. 
The brightest smiles, the blackest frowns of Fate. 

Come thou, whose love unlimited, sincere, 
Nor faction cools, nor injury destroys ; 

Who lend'st to Misery's moan a pitying ear. 
And feel'st with ecstasy another's joys : 

Who know'st man's frailty ; with a favouring eye, 
And melting heart, behold'st a brother's fall ; 

Who, unenslav'd by Fashion's narrow tie, 
With manly freedom follow'st Nature's call. 

And bring thy Delia, sweetly-smiling fair. 

Whose spotless soul no rankling thoughts de- 
form ; 

Her gentle accents calm each throbbing care. 
And harmonize the thunder of the storm. 

Though blest with wisdom, and with wit refin'd. 
She courts no homage, nor desires to shine ; 

In her each sentiment sublime is join'd 
To female softness, and a form divine. 



134 THE POEMS 

Come, and disperse th' involving shadows drcai ; 

Let chasten'd mirth the social hours employ , 
O catch the swift-wing'd moment wliile 'tis near — 

On swiftest wing the moment flies of joy. 

Even while the careless disencumber'd soul 
Sinks all dissolving into pleasure's dream, 

Even then to time's tremendous verge we roll, 
With headlong haste, along life's surgy stream. 

Can Gayety the vanish'd years restore, 

Or on the withering limbs fresh beauty shed, 

Or soothe the sad inevitable hour, 

Or cheer the dark, dark mansions of the 
dead? 

Still sounds the solemn knell in Fancy's ear. 
That call'd Eliza to the silent tomb ; 

To her how jocund roll'd the sprightly year ! 
How shone the nymph in beauty's brightest 
bloom ! 

Ah ! Beauty's bloom avails not in the grave. 
Youth's lofty mien, nor age's awful grace ; 

Moulder alike unknown the prince and slave, 
Whelm'd in th' enormous wreck of human race. 

The thought-fix'd portraiture, the breathing bust, 
The arch with proud memorials array'd. 

The long-liv'd pyramid shall sink in dust 
To dumb oblivion's ever-desert shade. 



OF BEATTIE. 135 

Fancy from joy still wanders far astray : 
Ah, Melancholy ! how I feel thy power ! 

Long have I labour'd to elude thy sway, 
But 'tis enough, for I resist no more. 

The traveller thus, that o'er the midnight-waste 
Through many a lonesome path is doom'd to 
roam, 

Wilder'd and weary sits him down at last ; 
For long the night, and distant far his home 



136 THE POEMS 



ELEGY. 

Tir'd with the busy crowds, that all the day 
Impatient throng where Folly's altars flame, 

My languid powers dissolve with quick decay, 
'Till genial Sleep repair the sinking frame. 

Hail, kind reviver ! that canst lull the cares. 
And every weary sense compose to rest. 

Lighten th' oppressive load which anguish bears, 
And warm with hope the cold desponding breast. 

Touch'd by thy rod, from Power's majestic brow 
Drops the gay plume ; he pines a lowly clown ; 

And, on tiie cold earth stretch'd,the son of Woe 
Quaffs Pleasure's draught, and wears a fancied 
crown. "~ 

When rous'd by thee, on boundless pinions borne 
Fancy to fairy scenes exults to rove. 

Now scales the cliff gay-gleaming on the morn, 
Now sad and silent treads the deepening grove ; 

Or skims the main, and listens to the storms, 
Marks the long waves roll far remote away. 

Or mingling with ten thousand glittering forms, 
Floats on the gale, and basks in purest day. 



OF BEATTIE. 137 

Haply, ere long, pierc'd by tlie howling blast, 
Through dark and pathless deserts I shall roam, 

Plunge down th' unfathom'd deep, or shrink aghast 
Where bursts the shrieking spectre from the tomb. 

Perhaps loose Luxury's enchanting smile 
Shall lure my steps to some romantic dale, 

Where Mirth's light freaks th' unheeded hours 
beguile, 
And airs of rapture warble in the gale. 

Instructive emblem of this mortal state ! 

Where scenes as various every hour arise 
In swift succession, which the hand of Fate 

Presents, then snatches from our wondering eyes. 

Be taught, vain man, how fleeting all thy joys, 
Thy boasted grandeur, and thy glittering store ; 

Death comes, and all thy fancied bliss destroys, 
Quick as a dream it fades, and is no more. 

And, sons of Sorrow ! though the threatening storm 
Of angry Fortune overhang awhile. 

Let not her frowns your inward peace deform ; 
Soon happier days in happier climes shall smile. 

Through Earth's throng'd visions while we toss 
forlorn, 

'Tis tumult all, and rage, and restless strife ; 
But these shall vanish like the dreams of morn, 

When Death awakes us to immortal life. 



138 THE POEMS 



ELEGY. 



Exults the fluttering heart, O Mortal-born, 
If Fame pronounce thee beautiful and wise, 

If pompous blazonry thy name adorn ? 

Approach, with trembling awe, where **** lies. 

And pause ; and know thy boasted honours vain ; 

Vain all the gifts that fortune can bestow ; 
Late shone around Her all the gorgeous train. 

But shine not round the mouldering dust below. 

Gaz'd at from far by Envy's hfted eye. 
What then avails to deck th' exalted scene, 

If there the blasting storms of anguish fly. 
If Frailty there displays her withering mien ? 

But Virtue (sacred plant !) no soil disdains — 
The plant that Frailty's fiercest frown defies ; 

Retir'd it blooms amid the lowly plains, 

Or decks the mountain's brow that mates the 
skies ; 

And there conspicuous forms the Pilgrim's bower, 
When Sorrow darts direct the feverish ray ; 

And forms his shelter from the tempest's power 
In stern Oppression's desolating day. 



OF BKATTIE. 139 

This, Grandeur, be thy praise ; 'tis more than fame : 
This praise was Hers ; yet not to this confin'd : 

Hers was th' indulgent soul, untaught to blame, 
Hers all the graces of the mildest mind. 

Sli«;ht is your wound, who mourn a Guardian lost, 
Though grief's sharp sting now prompts the 
pious sigh ; 
He lives the friend of man, the Muse's boast, 
And Bounty's hand shall wipe your streaming 
eye. 

But ah ! what balm shall heal His bleeding heart 
Who for the Friend and for the Lover mourns ! 

Of all the joys that friendship can impart. 
When love's divinest flame united burns, 

Possess'd so late, but now possess'd no more ! — 
Thus triumphs Fate o'er all that charms below ; 

Thus curbs the storm till joy's meridian hour, 
To wrap the smiling scene in darker woe. 

Sole object of a Mother's tender care. 

Could ought of song avail to ease thy pain, 

Or charm a Parent's, Sister's, Friend's despair. 
Fain would the Muse attempt some soothing 
strain. 

But what can soothe, when Hope denies her aid ! 

Far in the silent depth of yonder gloom, 
WJiere the weak lamp wan v/avers o'er the dead, 

She hides in sable dust her sparkling plume. 



140 THE POEMS 

T' enrage their smart, Remembrance wakes severe, 
And bids the vanish'd years again to roll ; 

Again they seem that soothing voice to hear, 
Again those looks shoot transport to the soul. 

The vision flies, and leaves the mind to mourn, 
Saddening each scene that pleas'd while She 
was by ; 

For ah ! those vanish'd years no more return ; 
Mute the soft voice, and clos'd the gentle eye. 

Come, Resignation, with uplifted brow. 

And eye of rapture smiling though in tears ; 

Come, for thou lov'st the silent house of woe, 
When no fond friend the abandon'd mansion 
cheers. 

Come, for 'tis thine to soothe the Mourner's smart. 
The throbs of hopeless anguish to control, 

With healing balm to point Death's levell'd dart, 
And melt in heavenly dreams the parting soul. 

We mark'd Thy triumphs in that hour of dread ; 

When from Her eyes, that look'd a last adieu. 
Each weeping friend seem'd vanishing in shade. 

And darkening slow the swimming scene with- 
drew. 

'Tvvas then, Her pale cheek caught Thy "rapturous 
smile, [breast, 

Thy cheering whispers calm'd her labouring 
And hymns of quiring angels charm'd the while. 

Till the weak frame dissolv'd in endless rest. 



OF liliATTIE. 141 



THE WOLF AND SHEPHERDS. 



Laws, as we read in ancient sages, 
Have been like cobwebs in all ages. 
Cobwebs for little files are spread, 
And laws for little folks are made ; 
But if an insect of renown. 
Hornet or beetle, wasp or drone. 
Be caught in quest of sport or plunder. 
The flimsy fetter flies in sunder. 

Your simile perhaps may please one 
With whom wit holds the place of reason 
But can you prove that this in fact is 
Agreeable to life and practice ? 

Then hear what in his simple way 
Old Esop told me t'other day. 
In days of yore, but (which is very odd) 
Our author mentions not the period. 
We mortal men, less given to speeches, 
AUow'd the beasts sometimes to teach us. 
But now we all are prattlers grown, 
And suffer no voice but our own : 
With us no beast has leave to speak, 
Although his honest heart should break. 
'Tis true, your asses and your apes, 
And other brutes in liuman sliapes. 



142 THE rOEMS 

And tliat tiling made of sound and show 

Which mortals have misnam'd a beau 

(But in the language of the sky 

Is call'd a two-Iegg'd butterfly), 

Will make your very heartstrings ache 

With loud and everlasting clack, 

And beat your auditory drum, 

Till you grow deaf, or they grow dumb. 

But to our story we return : 
'Twas early on a Summer morn, 
A Wolf forsook the mountain-den. 
And issued hungry on the plain. 
Full many a stream and lawn he pass'd. 
And reach'd a winding vale at last ; 
Where from a hollow rock he spy'd 
The shepherds drest in flowery pride. 
Garlands were strow'd, and all was gay, 
To celebrate an holiday. 
The merry tabor's gamesome sound 
• Provok'd the sprightly dance around. 
Hard by, a rural board was rear'd. 
On which in fair array appear'd 
The peach, the apple, and the raisin. 
And all the fruitage of the season. 
But, more distinguish'd than the rest. 
Was seen a wether ready drest. 
That smoking, recent from the flame, 
Diffus'd a stomach-rousing steam. 
Our wolf could not endure the sight ; 
Outrageous grew his appetite : 



OF BMATTi::. 143 

His entrails groan'd with tenfold pain, 
He lick'd his lips, and lick'd again. 
At last, with lightning in his eyes, 
He bounces forth, and fiercely cries, 
" Shepherds, I am not given to scolding, 
But now my spleen I cannot hold in. 
By Jove, such scandalous oppression 
Would put an elephant in passion. 
You, who your flocks (as you pretend) 
By wholesome laws from harm defend, 
Which make it death for any beast. 
How much soe'er by hunger press'd. 
To seize a sheep by force or stealth, 
(For sheep have right to life and health) 
Can you commit, uncheck'd by shame, 
What in a beast so much you blame ? 
What is a law, if those who make it 
Become the forwardest to break it ? 
The case is plain : you would reserve 
All to yourselves, while others starve. 
Such laws from base self-interest spring, 
Not from the reason of the thing — " 
He was proceeding, when a swain 
Burst out — "And dares a wolf arraign 
His betters, and condemn their measures, 
And contradict their wills and pleasures ? 
We have establish'd laws, 'tis true, 
But laws are made for such as you. 
Know, sirrah, in its very nature, 
A law can't reach the legislature. 



144 THE POEMS 

For laws, without a sanction join'd. 
As all men know, can never bind : 
But sanctions reach not us the makers, 
For who dares punish us though breakers ? 
'Tis therefore plain, beyond denial, 
That laws were ne'er design'd to tie all ; 
But those whom sanctions reach alone : 
We stand accountable to none. 
Besides, 'tis evident, that, seeing 
Laws from the great derive their being. 
They as in duty bound should love 
The great, in whom they live and move, 
And humbly yield to their desires : 
'Tis just what gratitude requires. 
What suckling dangled on the lap 
Would tear away its mother's ])ap ? 
But hold — Why deign I to dispute 
With such a scoundrel of a brute ? 
Logic is lost upon a knave. 
Let action prove the law our slave." 

An angry nod his will declar'd 
To his gruff yeoman of the guard ; 
The full-fed mongrels, train'd to ravage, 
Fly to devour the shaggy savage. 

The beast had now no time to lose 
In chopping logic with his foes ; 
" This argument," quoth he, " has force. 
And swiftness is my sole resource." 

He said, and left the swains their prey, 
And to the mountains scour'd away. 



OF liEATTlE. 115 



ON THE REPORT OF A MONUMENT 

TO BE ERECTED IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, TO THE MEMORY 
OF A LATE AUTHOR.* 



[Part of a letter to a person of quality. 

******* Lest your Lordship, who are so well 
acquainted with every thing that relates to true 
honour, should think hardly of me for attacking 
the memory of the dead, I beg leave to offer a 
few words in my own vindication. 

If I had composed the following verses, with a 
view to gratify private resentment, to promote the 
interest of any faction, or to recommend myself to 
the patronage of any person whatsoever, I should 
have been altogether inexcusable. To attack the 
memory of the dead from selfish considerations, 
or from mere wantonness of malice, is an enormity 
which none can hold in greater detestation than I. 
But I composed them from very different motives ; 
as every intelligent reader, who peruses them with 
attention, and who is willing to believe me upon 
my own testimony, will undoubtedly perceive. 
My motives proceeded from a sincere desire to 
do some small service to my country, and to the 

* CliurchiU. 

10 



146 THE POEMS 

cause of truth and virtue. The promoters of fac- 
tion I ever did, and ever will consider as the 
enemies of mankind ; to the memory of such I 
owe no veneration ; to the writings of such I owe 
no indulgence. 

Your Lordship knows that ***** owed the 
greatest share of his renown to the most incom- 
petent of all judges, the mob ; actuated by the 
most unworthy of all principles, a spirit of inso- 
lence ; and inflamed by the vilest of all human 
passions, hatred to their fellow- citizens. Those 
who joined the cry in his favour seemed to me to 
be swayed rather by fashion than by real senti- 
ment. He therefore might have lived and died 
unmolested by me ; confident as I am, that pos- 
terity, when the present unhappy dissensions are 
forgotten, will do ample justice to his real charac- 
ter. But when I saw the extravagant honours 
that were paid to his memory, and heard that a 
monument in Westminster Abbey was intended 
for one whom even his admirers acknowledge to 
have been an incendiary and a debauchee, I could 
not help wishing that my countrymen would re- 
flect a little on what they were doing, before they 
consecrated, by what posterity would think the 
public voice, a character which no friend to virtue 
or to true taste can approve. It was this senti- 
ment, enforced by the earnest request of a friend, 
which produced the following httle poem ; in 
which I have said nothing of ***** 's manners 



OF BEATTIE. 147 

that is not warranted by the best authority ; nor 
of bis writings, that is not perfectly agreeable to 
the opinion of many of the most competent judges 
in Britain. ******* *^ January 1765.] 

BuFO, begone ! with Thee may Faction's fire, 
That hatch'd thy salamander-fame, expire; 
Fame, dirty idol of the brainless crowd, 
What half-made moon-calf can mistake for good I 
Since shar'd by knaves of high and low degree ; 
Cromwell, and Catiline ; Guido Faux, and Thee. 

By nature uninspir'd, untaught by art ; 
With not one thought that breathes the feeling 

heart. 
With not one offering vow'd to Virtue's shrine, 
With not one pure unprostituted line ; 

Alike debauch'd in body, soul, and lays ; 

For pension'd censure, and for pension'd praise. 
For ribaldry, for libels, lewdness, lies, 
For blasphemy of all the Good and Wise ; 
Coarse virulence in coarser doggerel writ, [wit ; 
Which bawling blackguards spell'd, and took for 
For conscience, honour, slighted, spurn'd, o'er- 

thrown ; — 
Lo, Bufo shines the minion of renown ! 

Is this the land that boasts a Milton's fire, 
And magic Spenser's wildly-warbling lyre ? 
The land that owns th' omnipotence of song. 
When Shakspeare whirls the throbbing heart 

along ? 



148 THE POEMS 

The land where Pope, with energy divine, 
In fine strong blaze bade wit and fancy shine ; 
Whose verse, by Truth in Virtue's triumph borne, 
Gave knaves to infamy, and fools to scorn ; 
Yet pure in manners, and in thought refin'd, 
Whose life and lays adorn'd and blest mankind ? 
Is this the land where Gray's unlabour'd art 
Soothes, melts, alarms, and ravishes the heart ; 
While the lone wanderer's sweet complainings flow 
In simple majesty of manly woe ; 
Or while^ sublime, on eagle-pinion driven. 
He soars Pindaric heights, and sails the waste of 

heaven ? 
Is this the land, o'er Shenstone's recent urn 
Where all the Loves and gentler Graces mourn ? 
And where, to crown the hoary Bard of Night,! 
The Muses and the Virtues all unite ? 
Is this the laud where Akenside displays 
The bold yet temperate flame of ancient days ? 
Like the rapt Sage,^ in genius as in theme, 
Whose hallo w'd strain renown'd Ilissus' stream ; 
Or him, th' indignant Bard,^ whose patriot ire, 
Sublime in vengeance, smote the dreadful lyre ; 
For truth, for liberty, for virtue warm, 
Whose mighty song unnerv'd a tyrant's arm, 
Hush'd the rude roar of discord, rage, and lust, 
And spurn'd licentious demagogues to dust. 

1 Dr. Young. 2 piato. 

8 Alcoa us. See Akenside' s Ode on Lyric Poetry. 



OF BEATTIE. 149 

Ts filis the qnecn of realms ! the glorious isle, 
Britannia, blest in Heaven's indulgent smile ! 
Guardian of truth, and patroness of art, 
Nurse of th' undaunted soul, and generous heart ! 
Where, from a base, unthankful world exil'd, 
Freedom exults to roam the careless wild ; 
Where taste to science every charm supplies. 
And genius soars unbounded to the skies I 

And shall a Bufo's most polluted name 
Stain her bright tablet of untainted fame ! 
Shall his disgraceful name with theirs be join'd 
Who wish'd and wrought the welfare of their kind ! 
His name accurst, who, leagued with ***** 4 and 

hell, 
Labour'd to rouse, with rude and murderous yell, 
Discord the fiend, to toss rebellion's brand. 
To whelm in rage and woe a guiltless land ; 
To frustrate wisdom's, virtue's noblest plan. 
And triumph in the miseries of man. 

Drivelling and dull, when crawls the reptile 
Muse, 
Swoln from the sty, and rankling from the stews, 
With envy, spleen, and pestilence replete, 
And gorged with dust she lick'd from treason's feet ; 
Who once, like Satan, rais'd to heaven her sight, 

But turn'd abhorrent from the hated light; 

O'er such a Muse shall wreaths of glory bloom ? 
No shame and execration be her doom ! 

Hard-fated Bufo ! could not dulness save 
Thy sotil from sin, from infamy thy grave ! 
4 [Wilkes.] 



150 THE POEMS 

Blackmore and Quarles, those blockheads of re- 
nown, 
Lavished their ink, but never harm'd the town : 
Though this, thy brother in discordant song, 
Harass'd the ear, and cramp'd the labouring 
tongue ; [stand, 

And that, like thee, taught staggering prose to 
And limp on stilts of rhyme around the land. 
Harmless they doz'd a scribbling life away, 
And yawning nations own'd th' innoxious lay : 
But from thy graceless, rude, and beastly brain 
What fury breath'd th' incendiary strain ? 
Did hate to vice exasperate thy style ? 

No Bufo match'd the vilest of the vile. 

Yet blazon'd w^as his verse with Virtue's name : — 
Thus prudes look down to hide their want of shame ; 
Thus hypocrites to truth, and fools to sense. 
And fops to taste, have sometimes made pretence ; 
Thus thieves and gamesters swear by honour's laws ; 
Thus pension-hunters bawl their Country's cause 
Thus furious Teague for moderation rav'd. 
And own'd his soul to liberty enslav'd. 

Nor yet, though thousand cits admire thy rag« 
Though less of fool than felon marks thy page ; 
Nor yet, though here and there one lonely sparl 
Of wit half brightens through th' involving dark, 
To show the gloom more hideous for the foil. 
But not repay the drudging reader's toil ; 
(For who for one poor pearl of clouded ray 
Through Alpine dunghills delves his desperate 
way ?) 



OF liEATTlE. 151 

Did genius to thy verse such bane impart ? 
No. 'Twas the demon of thy venom'd heart, 
(Thy heart with rancour's quintessence endued) 
And the blind zeal of a misjudging crowd. 

Thus from rank soil a poison'd mushroom sprung, 
Nursling obscene of mildew and of dung ; 
By heaven designed on its own native spot 
Harmless t' enlarge its bloated bulk, and rot. 
But gluttony th' abortive nuisance saw ; 
It rous'd his ravenous undiscerning maw ; 
Gulp'd down the tasteless throat, the mess abhorr'd 
Shot fiery influence round the maddening board. 

O had thy verse been impotent as dull. 
Nor spoke the rancorous heart, but lumpish scull ; 
Had mobs distinguish'd, they who howl'd thy fame. 
The icicle from the pure diamond's flame, 
f^rom fancy's soul thy gross imbruted sense. 
From dauntless truth thy shameless insolence, 
From elegance confusion's monstrous mass, 
And from the lion's spoils the skulking ass. 
From rapture's strain the drawling doggerel line, 

From warbling seraphim the gruntling swine ; 

With gluttons, dunces, rakes, thy name had slept. 
Nor o'er her sullied fame Britannia wept ; 
Nor had the Muse, with honest zeal possess'd, 
T' avenge her country by thy name disgrac'd, 
Rais'd this bold strain for virtue, truth, mankind, 
And thy fell shade to infamy resign'd. 

When frailty leads astray the soul sincere, 
Let Mercy shed the soft and manly tear ; 



152 THE POEMS 

When to the grave descends the sensual sot, 
Unnam'd, unnotic'd, let his carrion rot ; 
When paltry rogues, by stealth, deceit, or force. 
Hazard their necks, ambitious of your purse, 
For such the hangman wreathes his trusty gin, 
And let the gallows expiate their sin. 
But when a ruffian, whose portentous crimes 
Like plagues and earthquakes terrify the times, 
Triumphs through life, from legal judgment free 
(For hell may hatch what law could ne'er foresee). 

Sacred from vengeance shall his memory rest ? 

Judas though dead, though damn'd, we still detest. 



OF BEATTIE. 153 

SONG, m IMITATION OF SHAKSPEARE'S 

'blow, blow, thou winter wind.' 

Blow, blow, thou vernal gale ! 
Thy balm will not avail 
To ease my aching breast ; 
Though thou the billows smooth, 
Thy murmurs cannot soothe 
My weary soul to rest. 

Flow, flow, thou tuneful stream ! 
Infuse the easy dream 
Into the peaceful soul ; 
But thou canst not compose 
The tumult of my woes. 
Though soft thy waters roll. 

Blush, blush, ye fairest flowers ! 
Beauties surpassing yours 
My Rosalind adorn ; 
Nor is the winter's blast. 
That lays your glories waste, 
So killing as her scorn. 

Breathe, breathe, ye tender lays 
That linger down the maze 
Of yonder winding grove ! 
O let your soft control 
Bend her relenting soul 
To pity and to love. 



154 THE POEMS 

Fade, fade, ye flowerets fair, 
Gales, fan no more the air, 
Ye streams forget to glide ! 
Be hush'd, each vernal strain ! 
Since nought can soothe my pain, 
Nor mitigate her pride. 



EPITAPH 

ON TWO YOUNG MEN OF THE NAME OF LEITCH, WHO WERE 
DROWNED IN CROSSING THE RIVER SOUTHESK, 1757. 

O THOU whose steps in sacred reverence tread 

These lone dominions of the silent dead, 

On this sad stone a pious look bestow, 

Nor uninstructed read this tale of woe ! 

And while the sigh of sorrow heaves thy breast. 

Let each rebellious murmur be supprest ; 

Heaven's hidden ways to trace, for us, how vain ! 

Heaven's wise decrees, how impious to arraign ! 

Pure from the stains of a polluted age. 

In early bloom of life, they left the stage : 

Not doom'd in lingering woe to waste their breath, 

One moment snatch'd them from the power of 

Death : 
They liv'd united, and united died ; 
Happy the friends whom Death cannot divide ! 



OF BEATTIE. 155 



EPITAPH, INTENDED FOR HBISELF. 

Escap'd the gloom of mortal life, a soul 

Here leaves its mouldering tenement of clay, 

Safe, where no cares their whelming billows roll, 
No doubts bewilder, and no hopes betray. 

Like thee, I once have stemm'd the sea of life ; 

Like thee, have languish'd after empty joys ; 
Like thee, have laboured in the stormy strife; 

Been griev'd for trifles, and amus'd with toys. 

Yet, for a while, 'gainst Passion's threatful blast 
Let steady Reason urge the struggling oar ; 

Shot through the dreary gloom, the morn at last 
Gives to thy longing eye the blissful shore. 

Forget my frailties ; thou art also frail ; 

Forgive my lapses, for thyself may'st fall ; 
Nor read, unmov'd, my artless tender tale ; 

I was a friend, man ! to thee, to all. 



156 THE POEMS 

VERSES WRITTEN BY MR. BLACKLOCK, 

ON A. BLANK LEAF OF HIS POEMS, SENT TO THE AUTHOR. 



" Si quis tamen hsec quoque, si quis 



Captus amore leget." Virgil. 

" O THOU whose bosom inspiration fires, 
For whom the Muses string their favourite lyres ! 
Though with superior genius blest, yet deign 
A kind reception to my humbler strain. 

" When florid youth impell'd, and fortune smil'd, 
The Vocal Art my languid hours beguil'd : 
Severer studies now my life engage, 
Researches dull, that quench poetic rage. 

" From morn to evening destin'd to explore 
The verbal critic, and the scholiast's lore, 
Alas, what beam of heavenly ardor shines 
In musty lexicons and school-divines ! 

" Yet to the darling object of my heart 
A short but pleasing retrospect 1 dart ; 
Revolve the labours of the tuneful choir, 
And what I cannot imitate admire. 

" could my thoughts with all thy spirit glow. 
As thine melodious could my accents flow. 
Then thou approving might'st my song attend, 
Nor in a Blacklock blush to own a friend." 



OF BEATTIE. 157 



AN EPISTLE 

TO THE REVEREND MR. THOMAS ULACKLOCK. 

Monstro quod ipse tibi possis dare ; semita certe 
Tranquillae per virtutem patet unica vitse. 

Juvenal, Sat. x. 

Hail to the Poet whose spontaneous lays- 
No pride restrains, nor venal flattery sways ! 
Who nor from critics, nor from Fashion's laws, 
Learns to adjust his tribute of applause ; 
But bold to feel, and ardent to impart 
What nature whispers to the generous heart, 
Propitious to the Moral Song, commends. 
For Virtue's sake, the humblest of her friends. 

Peace to the grumblers of an envious age. 
Vapid in spleen, or brisk in frothy rage ! 
Critics, who, ere they understand, defame ; 
And friends demure, who only do not blame ; 
And puppet-prattlers, whose unconscious throat 
Transmits what the pert witling prompts by rote. 
Pleas'd to their spite or scorn I yield the lays 
That boast the sanction of a Blacklock's praise. 
Let others court the blind and babbling crowd : 
Mine be the favour of the Wise and Good. 

O Thou, to censure, as to guile unknown ! 



158 THE POEMS 

Indulgent to all merit but thy own ! 

Whose soul, though darkness wrap thine earthly 

frame, 
Exults in Virtue's pure ethereal flame ; 
Whose thoughts, congenial with the strains on high, 
The Muse adorns, but cannot dignify, 
As northern lights, in glittering legions driven. 
Embellish, not exalt, the starry Heaven ; 
Say Thou, for well thou know'st the art divine 
To guide the fancy, and the soul refine, 
What heights of excellence must he ascend. 
Who longs to claim a Blacklock for his friend ; 
Who longs to emulate thy tuneful art. 
But more thy meek simplicity of heart ; 
But more thy virtue patient, undismayed, 
At once though malice and mischance invade ; 
And, nor by learn'd nor priestly pride confin'd, 
Thy zeal for truth, and love of human kind. 

Like thee, with sweet ineffable control, 
Teach me to rouse or soothe th' impassion'd soul, 
And breathe the luxury of social woes ; 
Ah ! ill-exchanged for all that mirth bestows. 
Ye slaves of mirth, renounce your boasted plan, 
For know, 'tis Sympathy exalts the man. 
But, midst the festive bower, or echoing hall, 
Can Riot listen to soft Pity's call ? 
Rude he repels the soul-ennobling guest. 
And yields to selfish joy his harden'd breast. 

Teach me thine artless harmony of song, 
Sweet, as the vernal warblings borne along 



OF BKATTIE. 159 

Arcadia's myrtle groves — ere art began, 
With critic glance malevolent, to scan 
Bold Nature's generous charms, display'd profuse 
In each warm cheek, and each enraptur'd Muse 
Then had not Fraud impos'd, in Fashion's name, 
For freedom lifeless form, and pride for shame; 
And, for th' o'erflowings of a heart sincere, 
The feature fix'd, untarnish'd with a tear ; 
The cautious, slow, and unenliven'd eye. 
And breast inur'd to check the tender sigh. 
Then love, unblam'd, indulg'd the guiltless smile ; 
Deceit they fear'd not, for they knew not guile. 
The social sense unaw'd, that scorn 'd to own 
The curb of law, save nature's law alone, 
To godlike aims, and godlike actions fir'd. 
And the full energy of thought inspir'd. 
And the full dignity of pleasure, given 
T' exalt desire, and yield a taste of heaven. 

Hail, redolent of heaven, delights sublime ! 
Hail, blooming days, the days of nature's prime ! 
How throbs the tir'd and harass'd heart, to prove 
Your scenes of pure tranquillity and love ! 
But even to fancy fate that bliss denies ; 
For lo, in endless night the vision dies ! 
Ah, how unlike these scenes of rage and strife, 
Darkening to horror the bleak waste of life ! 
Where, all inverted nature's kindly plan, 
Man domineers, the scourge and curse of man; 
Where, haply, bosom'd in tempestuous floods, 
Or dark untrodden maze of boundless woods, 



IGO THE POEMS 

If yet some land inviolate remain, 
Nor dread th' oppressor's rod, nor tyrant's chain ; 
Nor dread the more inglorious fetters, wrought 
By hireling sophistry t' enslave the thought ; 
'Tis there, 'tis only there, where boastful fame 
Ne'er stunn'd the tingling ear with Europe's name. 

Too long, O Europe, have thy oceans roll'd, 
To glut thy lust of power, and lust of gold ; 
Too long, by glory's empty lure decoy'd. 
Thy haughty sons have triumph'd and destroy'd : 
Or led by reasoning pride afar to roam, [gloom, 
Where truth's false mimic haunts the sheltering 
Have plunged in cheerless night the wilder'd mijid, 
Th' abodes of peace for ever left behind. 
Unwise, unblest, your own, and Nature's foes, 
yet be still, and give the world repose ! 
Say, is it fame to dare the deed of death ? 
Is glory nought but flattery's purchas'd breath ? 
True praise, can trembling slaves, can fools bestow ? 
Can that be joy, which works another's woe ? 
Can that be knowledge, which in doubt decays ? 
Can truth reside in disappointment's maze ? 

But quench thy kindling zeal, presumptuous 
strain ; 
Thy zeal how impotent ! thy plaint how vain ! 
Hope not thy voice can tame the tempest's rage, 
Or check in prone career a headlong age. 
Far different themes must animate their song. 
Who pant to shine the favourites of a throng. 
Go, thou fond fool, thou slave to Nature's charms, 



OF BEATTIE. IGl 

Whose heart the cause of injur'd Truth alarms; 

Go, herd in Fashion's sleek and simpering train^ 

And watch the workings of her pregnant brain, 

Pr'ipar'd a sycophant's applause to pay, 

As each abortive monster crawls to day. 

8mit with the painted puppet-show of state, 

Go learn to gaze, and wonder at the great. 

Go learn with courtly reverence to admire 

A taste in toys, a genius in attire, 

IMusic of titles, dignity of show, 

The parrot-courtier, and the monkey-beau ; 

And all the equipage of sticks, and strings, 

And clouts, and nicknames — merchandise of kings. 

Or, to amuse the loitering hour of peace, 
When slander, wit, and spleen from troubling 

cease. 
Warble th' unmeaning hymn in Folly's ear ; 
Such hymns unthinking Folly loves to hear. 
Smooth flow thy lays, infusing as they roll 
A deep oblivious lethargy of soul : 
Let rill and gale glide liquidly along, 
While not one ruffling thouglit obstructs the song ; 
So shall the gallant and the gay rehearse 
The gentle strain, and call it charming verse. 

But if an ampler field thine ardour claim. 
Even realms and empires to resound thy name. 
Strive not on Fancy's soaring wing to rise ; 
The plodding rabble gaze not on the skies ; 
Far humbler regions bound their grovelling view, 
And humbler tracts their minion must j)ursue 
11 



162 THE POEMS 

There are, vvlio, grabbling in the putrid lake, 
The glittering ore from filth and darkness rake ; 
Like spoils from Politics thou may'st derive : 
The theme is dirty, dark, and lucrative. 
Yet ah ! even here the spoils are hard to win, 
For strong and subtle are thy foes within. 
The pangs of sentiment, the qualms of taste. 
And shame, dire inmate of the Scribbler's breast, 
The stings of conscience, and the throbs of pride, 
(Hard task) must all be vanquish'd or defied. 
Then go, whate'er thy wit, whate'er thy style, 
Defame the good, and deify the vile ; 
Fearless and frontless flounce into renown, 
For mobs and prudes by impudence are won. 
Though Providence, still merciful and just, 
Who dooms the snake to wallow in the dust. 
Oft curbs with grovelling impotence of mind 
The venal venom of the rancorous kind, 
Yet fear not ; Faction's torch of sulphurous gleam 
Shall fire the heart that feels not Fancy's beam. 

Thus arose, distinguish'd in the throng. 

Thus Bufo plied a profitable song. 

Proceed, Great Years, with steady glare to shine 
Where guilt and folly bend at Fashion's shrine ; 
And ye, the vain and shameless of our days, 
Approach with songs, and worship in the blaze. 
For him, alas ! who never learn'd the art 
To stifle conscience, and a throbbing heart ; 
Who, though too proud to mingle in the fray 
Whence truth and virtue bear no palms away, 



OF DEATTIE. 103 

Yet views with pity Folly's bustling scene — 
Til' ambitious sick with hope, the rich with spleeu, 
The great exulting in a joyless prize, — 
Yea pities even the fop he must despise ; — 
For him what then remains ? — The humble shed, 
Th' ennobling converse of the awful Dead, 
Beauty's pure ray diffus'd from Nature's face, 
Fancy's sweet charm, and Truth's majestic grace. 
Truth, not of hard access, or threatening mien, 
As by the vain unfeeling wrangler seen ; 
But bland and gentle as the early ray. 
That gilds the wilderness, and lights the way ; 
The messenger of joy to man below, 
Friend of our frailty, solace of our woe. 

Thus by Heaven's bounty rich, shall he repine 
If others in the toys of Fortune shine ? 
Needs he a title to exalt his race, 
Who from th' Eternal his descent can trace ? 
Or Fame's loud trump to stun him to repose, 
Whose soul resign'd no guilty tumult knows ? 
To roam with toil, in restless uproar hurl'd. 
One little corner of a little world, 
Can this enlarge or dignify the soul. 
Whose wing unwearied darts from pole to pole ? 
Can glowworms glitter on. the car of morn, 
Or gold the progeny of heaven adorn ? 

How long, enamour'd of fictitious joy. 
Shall false desire the lavish'd hour employ ! 
How long with random steps shall mortals roam. 
Unknown their path, and more unknown their home! 



164 THE POEMS 

All ! still delusive the vain pleasure flies, 
Or, grasp'd, insults our baffled hope, and dies. 
Meanwhile behind, with renovated force. 
Care and Disgust pursue our slackening course, 
And shall o'ertake ; even in the noon of age. 
Long ere the stings of Anguish cease to rage. 
And long ere Death, sole friend cf the distresl, 
Dismiss the pilgrim to eternal rest. 
Thus, wayward hope still wandering from within, 
Lur'd by the phantoms of th' external scene, 
We scorn, what heaven our only bliss design'd, 
The humble triumph of a tranquil mind ; 
And that alone pursue which Fortune brings, 
Th' applause of multitudes, or smile of kings. 
But ah ! can these, or those afford delight ? 
Can man be happy in his Maker's spite ? 
Vain thankless man, averse to Nature's sway, 
Feels every moment that he must obey. 
Close and more closely clasp the stubborn chains, 
And each new struggle rouses keener pains. 
Thus stung with appetite, with anguish torn, 
Urged by despair still more and more forlorn, 
Till each fantastic hope expire in woe. 
And the cold cheerless heart forget to glow, 
We perish, muttering this unrighteous strain, 
" Joy was not made for man, and life is vain." 

Sweet peace of heart, from false desire refin'd, 
That pour'st elysian sunshine on the mind, 
O come, bid each tumultuous wish be still. 
And bend to Nature's law each froward wilL 



OF BEATTIE. 165 

Let Hope's wild wing ne'er stoop to Fortune's 

sphere ; 
For terror, anguish, discontent are there ; 
But soar with strong and steady flight sublime, 
Where Disappointment never dar'd to climb. 
O come, serenely gay, and with thee bring 
The vital breath of heaven's eternal spring ; 
Th' amusive dream, of blameless fancy born, 
The calm oblivious night, and sprightly morn. 
Bring Resignation, undebas'd w^ith fear ; 
And Melancholy, serious, not severe ; 
And Fortitude, by chance nor time controll'd. 
Meek with the gentle, with the haughty bold ; 
Devotion deck'd in smiles of fihal love ; 
And Thought, conversing with the worlds above. 

So shall my days nor vain nor joyless roll, 
Nor with regret survey th' approaching goal ; 
Too happy, if I gain that noblest prize, 
The well-earn'd favour of the good and wi^e. 



166 THE rOEMS 



TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY 
CHARLOTTE GORDON, 

DRESSED IN A TARTAN SCOTCH BONNET, WITU PLUMES. 

Why, lady, wilt thou bind thy lovely brow 

With the dread semblance of that warlike helm, 

That nodding plume, and wreath of various glow, 
That grac'd the chiefs of Scotia's ancient realm ? 

Thou know'st that Virtue is of power the source, 
And all her magic to thy eyes is given ; 

We own their empire, while we feel their force, 
Beaming with the benignity of heaven. 

The plumy helmet, and the martial mien, 
Might dignify Minerva's awful charms ; 

But more resistless far tli' Idalian queen — 
Smiles, graces, gentleness, her only arms. 



OF BEATTIE. 167 



TRANSLATIONS. 



ANACREON. ODE XXH. 



Hapa rqv aKirjv^ Ba\9t»AAe, 



Bathyllus, in yonder lone grove 

All carelessly let us recline : 

To shade us the branches above 

Their leaf-waving tendrils combine ; 

While a streamlet inviting repose 

Soft murmuring wanders away, 

And gales warble wild through the boughs : 

Who there would not pass the sweet day ? 



THE BEGINNING OF THE FIRST BOOK OF 
LUCRETIUS. 

^neadum Genetrix v. 1 — 45 

Mother of mighty Rome's imperial line, 
Dehght of man, and of the powers divine, 
Venus, all bounteous queen ! whose genial power 
Diffuses beauty in unbounded store 



168 THE POEMS 

Through seas, and fertile plains, and all that lies 
Beneath the starr'd expansion of the skies ! 
Prepar'd by thee, the embryo springs to day, 
And opes its eyelids on the golden ray. 
At thy approach the clouds tumultuous fly, 
And the hush'd storms in gentle breezes die ; 
Flowers instantaneous spring ; the billows sleep ; 
A wavy radiance smiles along the deep ; 
At thy approach, th' untroubled sky refines. 
And all serene Heaven's lofty concave shines. 
Soon as her blooming form the Spring reveals, 
And Zephyr breathes his warm prolific gales. 
The feather'd tribes first catch the genial flame, 
And to the groves thy glad return proclaim. 
Thence to the beasts the soft infection spreads ; 
The raging cattle spurn the grassy meads, 
]>urst o'er the plains, and frantic in their course. 
Cleave the wild torrents with resistless force. 
Won by thy charms thy dictates all obey. 
And eager follow where thou lead'st the way. 
Whatever haunts the mountains, or the main, 
The rapid river, or the verdant plain, 
Or forms its leafy mansion in the shades, 
All, all thy universal power pervades : 
Each panting bosom melts to soft desires. 
And with the love of propagation fires. 
And since thy sovereign influence guides the reins 
Of nature, and the universe sustains ; [night, 

Since nought without thee bursts the bonds of 
To hail the happy realms of hcMwenly light ; 



OF BEATTIE. 169 

Since love, and joy, and harmony are thine, 

Guide me, goddess, by thy power divine, 

And to my rising lays thy succour bring, 

"While I the universe attempt to sing. 

O may my verse deserv'd applause obtain 

Of him, for whom I try the daring strain. 

My Memmius, him, whom thou, profusely kind, 

x\dorn'st with every excellence refin'd. 

And that immortal charms my song may grace, 

Let war, with all its cruel labours, cease ; 

O hush the dismal din of arms once more. 

And calm the jarring world from shore to shore. 

By thee alone the race of man foregoes 

The rage of blood, and sinks in soft repose : 

For mighty Mars, the dreadful god of arms, 

Who wakes or stills the battle's dire alarms. 

In love's strong fetters by thy charms is bound. 

And languishes with an eternal wound. 

Oft from his bloody toil the god retires 

To quench in thy embrace his fierce desires, 

Soft on thy heaving bosom he reclines 

And round thy yielding neck transported twines ; 

There lix'd in ecstasy intense surveys 

Thy kindling beauties with insatiate gaze, 

Grows to thy balmy mouth, and ardent sips 

Celestial sweets from thy ambrosial lips. 

O, while the god with fiercest raptures blest 

Lies all dissolving on thy sacred breast, 

O breathe thy melting whispers to his ear, 

And bid him still the loud alarms of war. 



170 THE POEMS 

In these tumultuous days, the Muse, in vain, 
Her steady tenour lost, pursues the strain, 
And Memmius' generous soul disdains to taste 
The calm delights of philosophic rest ; 
Paternal fires his beating breast inflame 
To rescue Rome, and vindicate her name. 



HORACE. BOOK H. ODE X. 



Rectius vives, Licini 



WouLDST thou through life securely glide, 
Nor boundless o'er the ocean ride ; 
Nor ply too near th' insidious shore, 
Scar'd at the tempest's threat'ning roar. 

The man who follows Wisdom's voice, 
And makes the golden mean his choice, 
Nor plung'd in antique gloomy cells 
Midst hoary desolation dwells ; 
Nor to allure the envious eye 
Rears his proud palace to the sky. 

The pine, that all the grove transcends. 
With every blast the tempest rends ; 
Totters the tower with thund'rous sound, 
And spreads a mighty ruin round ; 
Jove's bolt with desolating blow 
Strikes the ethereal mountain's brow. 



OF BEATTIE. 171 

The man whose steadfast soul can bear 
Fortune indulgent or severe, 
Hopes when she frowns, and when she smiles 
With cautious fear eludes her wiles. 
Jove with rude winter wastes the plain, 
Jove decks the rosy spring again. 
Life's former ills are overpast, 
Nor will the present always last. 
Now Phoebus wings his shafts, and now 
He lays aside th' unbended bow, 
Strikes into life the trembling string, 
And wakes the silent Muse to sing. 

With unabating courage, brave 
Adversity's tumultuous wave ; 
When too propitious breezes rise. 
And the light vessel swiftly flies, 
With timid caution catch the gale. 
And shorten the distended sail. 



HORACE. BOOK TIL ODE XHI. 

Fons Blandusiffi 

Blandusia, more than crystal clear, 
Whose soothing murmurs charm the ear. 
Whose margin soft with flowerets crown'd 
Invites the festive band around, 
Their careless limbs diifus'd supine, 
To quaff the soul-enlivening wine, 



172 THE POEMS 

To thee a tender kid I vow, 
That aims for fight his budding brow ; 
In thought, the wrathful combat proves, 
Or wantons with his little loves : 
But vain are all his purpos'd schemes. 
Delusive all his flattering dreams. 
To-morrow shall his fervent blood 
Stain the pure silver of thy flood. 

When fiery Sirius blasts the plain, 
Untouch'd thy gelid streams remain. 
To thee the fainting flocks repair. 
To taste thy cool reviving air ; 
To thee the ox with toil opprest. 
And lays his languid limbs to rest. 

As springs of old renown'd, thy name, 
Blest fountain ! I devote to fame, 
Thus while I sing in deathless lays 
The verdant holm, whose waving sprays, 
Thy sweet retirement to defend. 
High o'er the moss-grown rock impend, 
Whence prattling in loquacious play 
Thy sprightly waters leap away. 



OF BEATTIE. 1/ 



THE PASTORALS OF VIRGIL. 

Noil ita certandi cupidus, quam propter araorem 
Quod te imitari aveo Lucret. lib. iii. 

PASTORAL Li 

MELIBCEUS, TITYKUS. 
MELIBCEDS. 

Where the broad beech an ample shade disphxys, 
Your slender reed resounds the sylvan lays, 
O happy Tityrus ! While we, forlorn, 
Driven from our lands, to distant climes are borne, 
Stretch'd careless in the peaceful shade you sing. 
And all the groves with Amaryllis ring. 

1 It has been observed by some critics who have treated of 
pastoral poetry, that, in every poem of this kind, it is pro])fr 
that tlie scene or landscape, coimccted with the little plot or 
fable on which the poem is founded, be delineated witli at least 
as much accuracy as is suflicientto render the description par- 
ticular and picturesque. How far Virgil has thought fit to 
attend to such a rule may appear from the remarks which the 
translator has subjoined to every pastoral. 

The scene of the first pastoral ie pictured out with great 
accuracy. The shepherds Meliboeus and Tityrus are repre- 
sented as conversing together beneath a spreading beech tree. 
Flocks and herds are feeding hard by. At a little distance 
we behold, on the one hand a great rock, and on the other a 
fence of fiowcring willows. The prospect as it widens is 
diversified with groves and streams, and some tall trees, par- 



174 THE POEMS 



TITYRUS. 

This peace to a propitious god I owe ; 
None else, my friend, such blessings could bestow. 
Him will I celebrate with rites divine, 
And frequent lambs shall stain his sacred shrine. 
By him, these feeding herds in safety stray ; 
By him, in peace I pipe the rural lay. 

MELIB(EUS. 

I envy not, but wonder at your fate, 
That no alarms invade this blest retreat ; 
While neighbouring fields the voice of woe resound, 
And desolation rages all around. 
Worn with fatigue I slowly onward bend. 
And scarce my feeble fainting goats attend. 



ticularly elms. Beyond all these appear marshy grounds 
and rocky hills. The ragged and drooping flock of the un- 
fortunate shepherd, particularly the she-goat which he leads 
along, are no inconsiderable figures in this picture. — The 
time is the evening of a summer day, a little before sunset. 
See the Originql, v. 1, 5, 9, 52, 54, 57, 59, 81, &c. 

This pastoral is said to have been written on the following 
occasion. Augustus, in order to reward the services of his 
veterans, by means of whom he had established himself in the 
Roman empire, distributed among them the lands that lay 
contiguous to Mantua and Cremona. To make way for these 
intruders, the rightful owners, of whom Virgil was one, were 
turned out. But our poet, by the intercession of Mecaenas, 
was reinstated in his possessions. Meliboeus here personates 
one of the unhappy exiles, and Virgil is represented under 
the character of Tityrus. 



OF bi:attii:. 175 

JMy hand this sickly dam can hardly l>ear, 
Whose young new-yean'd (ah once an hopeful 
Amid the tangling hazels as they lay, [pair!) 

On the sharp Hint were left to pine away. 
These ills I had foreseen, but that my mind 
To all portents and prodigies was blind. 
Oft have the blasted oaks foretold my woe ; 
And often has the inauspicious crow, 
Perch'd on the wither'd holm, with fateful cries, 
Scream 'd in my ear her dismal prophecies. 
But say, Tityrus, what god bestows 
This blissful life of undisturb'd repose ? 

TITYRUS. 

Imperial Rome, while yet to me unknown, 
I vainly liken'd to our country-town, 
Our little Mantua, at which is sold 
The yearly offspring of our fruitful fold. 
As in the whelp the father's shape appears, 
And as the kid its mother's semblance bears, 
Thus greater things my inexperlenc'd mind 
Rated by others gf inferior kind. 
But she, midst other cities, rears her head 
High as the cypress overtops the reed. 

MELIBCEUS. 

And why to visit Rome was you inclin'd? 

TITYRUS. 

'Twas there I hoped my liberty to find. 
And there my liberty I found at last, 



176 THE roExMS 

Though long with listless indolence opprest ; 
Yet not till Time had silver'd o'er my hairs, 
And I had told a tedious length of years ; 
Nor till the gentle Amaryllis charm'd,^ 
And Galatea's love no longer warm'd. 
For (to my friend I will confess the whole) 
While Galatea captive held my soul, 
Languid and lifeless all I dragg'd the chain, 
Neglected liberty, neglected gain. 
Though from my fold the frequent victim bled, 
Though my fat cheese th' ungrateful city fed. 
For this I ne'er perceiv'd my wealth increase : 
I lavish'd all, her haughty heart to please. 

MELIBQ^US. 

Why Amaryllis pin'd, and j)ass'd away 
In lonely shades the melancholy day ; 
Why to the gods she breath'd incessant vows ; 
For whom her mellow apples press'd the boughs 
So late, I wonder'd — Tityrus was gone, 
And she (ah luckless maid !) was left alone. 
Your absence every warbling fountain mourn'd, 
And woods and wilds the wailing strains return'd. 

TITYKUS. 

What could I do ? to break th' enslaving chain 
All other efforts had (alas !) been vain ; 

2 The refinements of Taubraannus, De La Cerda, and 
others, Avho will have Amar3^11is to signify Rome, and Galatea 
to signify Mantua, have perplexed this passage not a little: 
if the literal meaning be admitted, the whole becomes obvious 
and natural. 



OF BEATTIE. 177 

Nor durst my ho})es presume, but there, to find 
The gods so condescending and so kind. 
'Twas there these eyes the heaven-born youth 

beheld ^ 
To whom our ahars monthly incense yield : 
My suit he even prevented, while he spoke, 
"Manure your ancient farm, and feed your former 

flock." 

MELIBCEUS. 

Happy old man ! then shall your lands remain; 
Extent sufficient for th' industrious swain, 
Though bleak and bare yon ridgy rocks arise, 
And lost in lakes the neighbouring pasture lies. 
Your herds on wonted grounds shall safely range, 
And never feel the dire effects of change. 
No foreign flock shall spread infecting bane 
To hurt your pregnant dams, thrice happy swain ! 
You by known streams and sacred fountains laid 
Shall taste the coolness of the fragrant shade. 
Beneath yon fence, where willow-boughs unite. 
And to their flowers the swarming bees invite, 
Oft shall the lulling hum persuade to rest. 
And balmy slumbers steal into your breast; 
While warbled from this rock the pruner's lay 
In deep repose dissolves your soul away ; 
High on yon elm the turtle wails alone. 
And your lov'd ringdoves breathe a hoarser moan. 

3 Augustus Cffisar. 

12 



178 THE POEMS 



TITTRUS. 

The nimble harts shall graze in empty air, 
And seas retreating leave their fishes bare, 
The German dwell where rapid Tigris flows, 
The Parthian, banish'd by invading foes, 
Shall drink the Gallic Arar, from my breast 
Ere his majestic image be effac'd. 

MELIBCEUS. 

But we must travel o'er a length of lands, 
O'er Scythian snows, or Afric's burning sands ; 
Some wander where remote Oaxes laves 
The Cretan meadows with his rapid waves ; 
In Britain some, from every comfort torn, 
From all the world remov'd, are doom'd to mourn. 
When long long years have tedious roll'd away. 
Ah ! shall I yet at last, at last, survey 
My dear paternal lands, and dear abode. 
Where once I reign'd in walls of humble sod ! 
These lands, these harvests must the soldier share ! 
For rude barbarians lavish we our care ! 
How are our fields become the spoil of wars ! 
How are we ruin'd by intestine jars ! 
Now, Meliboeus, now ingraft' the pear. 
Now teach the vine its tender sprays to rear ! — 
Go, then, my goats ! — go, once an happy store ! 
Once happy ! — happy now (alas !) no more ! 
No more shall I, beneath the bowery shade 
In rural quiet indolently laid, 



or 15KATTIE. 179 

Behold you from afar the cliffs ascend, 
And from the shrubby precipice depend ; 
No more to music wake my melting flute, 
"While on the thyme you feed, and willow's whole- 
some shoot. 

TITYRUS. 

This night at least with me you may repose 
On the green foliage, and forget your woes. 
Apples and nuts mature our boughs afford. 
And curdled milk in plenty crowns my board. 
Now from yon hamlets clouds of smoke arise. 
And slowly roll along the evening skies ; 
And see projected from the mountain's brow 
A lengthen'd shade obscures the plain below. 



PASTORAL n.i 

ALEXIS. 

Young Corydon for fair Alexis pin'd, 
But hope ne'er gladden'd his desponding mind ; 
Nor vows nor tears the scornful boy could move, 
Distinguish'd by his wealthier master's love. 

1 The chief excellency of this poem consists in its delicacy 
and simplicity. Corydon addresses his favourite in such a 
purity of sentiment as one would think might eflectually dis- 
countenance the prepossessions which generally prevail against 
the subject of this eclogue. The nature of his affection may 



180 THE POEMS 

Oft to the beech's deep embowering shade 
Pensive and sad this hapless shepherd stray'd ; 
There told in artless verse his tender pain 
To echoing hills and groves, but all in vain. 
"In vain the flute's complaining lays I try; 
But am I doom'd, unpitying boy, to die ? 
Now to faint flocks the grove a shade supplies, 
And in the thorny brake the lizard lies ; 
Now Thestylis with herbs of savoury taste 
Prepares the weary harvest-man's repast ; 
And all is still, save where the buzzing sound 
Of chirping grasshoppers is heard around ; 
While I expos'd to all the rage of heat 
Wander the wilds in search of thy retreat. 



easily be ascertained from his ideas of the happiness which 
he hopes to enjoy in the company of his beloved Alexis: 

O tantum libeat 



O deign at last amid tliese lonely fields, &c. 

It appears to have been no other than that friendship which 
was encouraged bj' the wisest legislators of ancient Greece, as 
a noble incentive to virtue, and recommended by the example 
even of Agesilaus, Pericles, and Soci-ates : an affection wholly 
distinct from the infamous attachments that prevailed am<.)ng 
the licentious. The reader will find a full and satisfying ac- 
count of this generous passion in Dr. Potter's Antiquities of 
Greece, B. iv. chap. 9. ]\Ions. Bayle, in his Dictionary, at 
the article Virgile, has at great length vindicated our poet 
from the charge of immorality which the critics have ground- 
ed upon this pastoral. 

The scene of this pastoral is a grove interspersed with 
beech-trees ; the season, harvest. 



OF BEATTIE. 181 

" Was it not easier to support the pain 
I felt from Amaryllis' fierce disdain ? 
Easier Menalcas' cold neglect to bear, 
Black though he was, though thou art blooming 

fair? 
Yet be relenting, nor too much presume, 

beauteous boy, on thy celestial bloom ; 
The sable violet^ yields a precious dye. 

While useless on the field the withering lilies lie. 

Ah, cruel boy ! my love is all in vain. 

No thoughts of thine regard thy wretched swain. 

How rich my flock thou carest not to know. 

Nor how my pails with generous milk o'erflow. 

With bleat of thousand lambs my hills resound, 

And all the year my milky stores abound ; 

Not Amphion's lays were sweeter than my song. 

Those lays that led the listening herds along ; 

And if the face be true I lately view'd. 

Where calm and clear th' uncurling ocean stood, 

1 lack not beauty, nor could'st thou deny 
That even with Daphnis I may dare to vie. 

"O deign at last amid these lonely fields 
To taste the pleasures which the country yields ; 
With me to dwell in cottages resign'd. 
To roam the woods, to shoot the bounding hind ; 
With me the weanling kids from home to guide 
To the green mallows on the mountain side ; 

2 Vaccinium (here translated violet) yielded a purple co- 
lour used in dying the garments of slaves, according to Plin. 
1. xvi. c. 28. 



182 THE POEMS 

With me in echoing groves the song to raise, 
And emulate even Pan's celestial lays. 
Pan taught the jointed reed its tuneful strain. 
Pan guards the tender flock, and shepherd swain. 
Nor grudge, Alexis, that the rural pipe 
So oft has stain'd the roses of thy lip : 
How did Amyntas strive thy skill to gain ! 
How grieve at last to find his labour vain ! 
Of seven unequal reeds a pipe I have, 
The precious gift which good Damoetas gave ; 
* Take this,' the dying sheplierd said, ' for none 
Inherits all my skill but thou alone.' 
He said ; Amyntas murmurs at my praise, 
And with an envious eye the gift surveys. 
Besides, as presents for my soul's delight. 
Two beauteous kids I keep,bestreak'd with white, 
Nourish'd with care, nor purchas'd without pain ; 
An ewe's full udder twice a day they drain. 
These to obtain oft Thestylis hath tried 
Each winning art, while I her suit denied ; 
But I at last shall yield what she requests, 
Since thy relentless pride my gifts detests. 
" Come, beauteous boy, and bless my rural bowers. 
For thee the nymphs collect the choicest flowers ; 
Fair Nais culls amid the bloomy dale 
The drooping poppy and the violet pale, 
To marygolds the hyacinth applies. 
Shading the glossy with the tawny dyes ; 
Narcissus' flower, with daffodil entwin'd. 
And cassia's breathing sweets to these are join'd, 



OF BEATTIE. 183 

With every bloom tliat paints the vernal grove, 
And all to form a garland for my love. 
Myself with sweetest fruits will crown thy feast ; 
The luscious peach shall gratify thy taste, 
And chestnut brown (once high in my regard, 
For Amaryllis this to all preferr'd ; 
But if the blushing plum thy choice thou make, 
The plum shall more be valued for thy sake) ; 
The myrtle, wreath'd with laurel, shall exhale 
A blended fragrance to delight thy smell. 
"Ah Corydon ! tliou rustic, simple swain, 
Thyself, thy prayers, thy offers all are vain. 
How few, compar'd with rich lolas' store, 
Thy boasted gifts, and all thy wealth how poor ! 
Wretch that 1 am ! wliile thus I pine forlorn, 
And all the livelong day inactive mourn, 
The boars have laid my silver fountains waste, 
My flowers are fading in the southern blast. — 
Fly'st thou, ah foolish boy, the lonesome grove ? 
Yet gods for this have left the realms above. 
Paris with scorn the pomp of Troy survey'd, 
And sought th' Idaian bowers and peaceful shade : 
Jn her proud palaces let Pallas shine ; 
The lowly woods, and rural life be mine. 
The lioness, all dreadful in her course, 
Pursues the wolf, and he with headlong force 
Flies at the wanton goat, that loves to climb 
The cliff's steep side, and crop the flowering thyme ; 
Thee Corydon pursues, O beauteous boy ! 
Thus each is drawn along by some peculiar joy. 



184 THE rOEMS 

" Now evening soft comes on, and homeward now 
From field the weary oxen bear the plough ; 
The setting sun now beams more mildly bright, 
The shadows lengthening with the level light ; 
While with love's flame my restless bosom glows. 
For love no interval of ease allows." 

Ah Corydon ! to weak complaints a prey, 
AVhat madness thus to waste the fleeting day! 
Be rous'd at length ; thy half-prun'd vines demand 
The needful culture of thy curbing hand. 
Haste, lingering swain, the flexile willows weave, 
And with thy wonted care thy wants relieve. 
Forget Alexis' unrelenting scorn : 
Another love thy passion will return. 



PASTORAL m. 

MENALCAS, DAM(ETAS, PAL^MON. ' 
MENALCAS. 

To whom belongs this flock, Damoetas, pray : 
To Meliboeus ? 

DAMCETAS. 

No ; the other day 
The shepherd -^gon gave it me to keep. 

1 The contending shepherds, Menalcas and Damoetas, to- 
gether with their umpire Palcemon, are seaf,ed on the grass, 
not far from a row of beech-trees. Flocks are seen feeding 
hard by. The time of the day seems to be noon, the season 
between Spring and Summer. 



OF BEATTIE. 185 



MENALCAS. 

Ah Still neglected, still unhappy sheep ! ^ 
He plies Neaera with assiduous love, 
And fears lest she my happier flame approve ; 
Meanwhile this hireling wretch (disgrace to 

swains ! ) 
Defrauds his master, and purloins his gains, 
Milks twice an hour, and drains the famish'd 

dams. 
Whose empty dugs in vain attract the lambs. 

DAM(ETAS. 

Forbear on men such language to bestow. 
Thee, stain of manhood ! thee full well I know. 
I know, with whom — and where — ^ (their grove 

defil'd 
The nymphs reveng'd not, but indulgent smil'd) 
And how the goats beheld, then browsing near, 
The shameful sight with a lascivious leer. 

MENALCAS. 

No doubt, when Mycon's tender trees I broke, 
And gash'd his young vines with a blunted hook. 

2 Throughout the whole of this altercation, notwithstand- 
ing the untoward subject, the reader will find in the original 
such a happy union of simplicity and force of expression and 
harmony of verse, as it is vain to look for in an English 
translation. 

8 The abruptness and obscurity of the original is here 
imitated. 



186 THE POEMS 



DAMCETAS. 

Or when conceal'd behind this ancient row 
Of beech, you broke young Daphnis' shafts and 

bow, 
With sharpest pangs of rancorous anguish stung 
To see the gift conferr'd on one so young ; 
And had you not thus vvreak'd your sordid spite, 
Of very envy you had died outright. 

MENALCAS. 

Gods ! what may masters dare, when such a 
pitch 
Of impudence their thievish hirelings reach. 
Did I not, wretch (deny it if you dare), 
Did I not see you Damon's goat ensnare ? 
Lycisca bark'd ; then I the felon spied, 
And " Whither slinks yon sneaking thief? " I cried. 
The thief, discover'd, straight his prey forsook, 
And skulk'd amid the sedges of the brook. 

DAMCETAS. 

That goat my pipe from Damon fairly gain'd ; 
A match was set, and I the prize obtained. 
He own'd it due to my superior skill. 
And yet refus'd his bargain to fulfil. 

MENALCAS. 

By your superior skill — the goat was won? 
Have you a jointed pipe, indecent clown ! 



OF BEATTIE. 187 

Whose whizzing straws with harshest discord jarr'd, 
As in the streets your wretched rhymes you marr'd? 

DAMCETAS. 

Boasts are but vain. I 'm ready, when you will, 
To make a solemn trial of our skill. 
I stake this heifer, no ignoble prize ; 
Two calves from her full udder she supplies, 
And twice* a day her milk the pail o'erflows ; 
What pledge of equal worth will you expose ? 

MENALCAS. 

Ought from the flock I dare not risk ; I fear 
A cruel stepdame, and a sire severe. 
Who of their store so strict a reckoning keep. 
That twice a day they count the kids and sheep. 
But, since you purpose to be mad to-day, 
Two beechen cups I scruple not to lay 
(Whose far superior worth yourself will own), 
The labour'd work of fam'd Alcimedon. 
Kais'd round the brims by the engraver's care 
The flaunting vine unfolds its foliage fair ; 
Entwin'd the ivy's tendrils seem to grow. 
Half-hid in leaves its mimic berries glow ; 
Two figures rise below, of curious frame, 
Conon, and — what 's that other sage's name, 
Who with his rod describ'd the world's vast round, 
Taught when to reap, and when to till the ground ? 
At home I have reserv'd them unprofan'd. 
No lip has e'er their glossy polish stain'd. 



188 THE POEMS 

DAMCETAS. 

Two cups for me that skilful artist made ; 
Their handles with acanthus are array'd ; 
Orpheus is in the midst, whose magic song 
Leads in tumultuous dance the lofty grove? along. 
At home I have reserv'd them unprofan'd, 
No lip has e'er their glossy polish stain'd. 
But my pledg'd heifer if aright you prize, 
The cups so much extoll'd you will despise. 

MENALCAS. 

These arts, proud boaster, all are lost on me ; 
To any terms I readily agree. 
You shall not boast your victory to-day ; 
Let him be judge who passes first this way : 
And see the good Palaemon ! trust me, swain, 
You '11 be more cautious how you brag again. 

DAMCETAS. 

Delays I brook not ; if you dare, proceed ; 
At singing no antagonist I dread. 
Palaemon, listen to th' important songs, 
To such debates attention strict belongs. 

PAL^MON. 

Sing, then. A couch the flowery herbage yields ; 
Now blossom all the trees, and all the fields ; 
And all the woods their pomp of foliage wear, 
And Nature's fairest robe adorns the blooming 
year. 



OF BEATTIE. 189 

Damoctas first tli' alternate lay shall raise : 
Th' inspiring Muses love alternate lays. 

DAM(ETAS. 

Jove first I sing ; ye Muses, aid my lay ; 
All Nature owns his energy and sway ; 
The Earth and Heavens his sovereign bounty share, 
And to my verses he vouchsafes his care. 

MENALCAS. 

With great Apollo I begin the strain, 
For I am great Apollo's favourite swain ; 
For him the purple hyacinth I wear, 
^ nd sacred bay to Phoebus ever dear. 

DAMCETAS. 

The sprightly Galatea at my head 
kr\ apple flung, and to the willows fled ; 
But as along the level lawn she flew, 
The wanton wish'd not to escape my view. 

MENALCAS. 

I languish'd long for fair Amyntas' charms, 
But now he comes unbidden to my arms, 
And with my dogs is so familiar grown, 
That my own DeHa is no better known. 

DAMCETAS. 

I lately mark'd where midst the verdant shade 
Two parent-doves had built their leafy bed ; 
I from the nest the young will shortly take. 
And to my love an handsome present make. 



190 THE POEMS 

MENALCAS. 

Ten ruddy wildings, from a lofty bough, 
That through the green leaves beam'd with yellow 

glow, 
I brought away, and to Amyntas bore ; 
To-morrow I shall send as many more. 

DAMCETAS. 

Ah the keen raptures ! when my yielding fair 
Breath 'd her kind whispers to my ravish'd ear ! 
Waft, gentle gales, her accents to the skies, 
That gods themselves may hear with sweet surprise. 

MENALCAS. 

What though I am not wretched by your scorn ? 
Say, beauteous boy, say can T cease to mourn. 
If, wliile I hold the nets, the boar you face, 
And rashly brave the dangers of the chase? 

DAMCETAS. 

Send Phyllis home, lolas, for to-day 
I celebrate my birth, and all is gay ; 
When for my crop the victim I prepare, 
lolas in our festival may share. 

MENALCAS. 

Phyllis I love ; she more than atl can charm, 
And mutual fires her gentle bosom warm : 
Tears, when I leave her, bathe her beauteous eyes, 
"A long, a long adieu, my love!" she cries. 



OF BEATTIE. 191 



DAMCETAS. 

The wolf is dreadful to the woolly train, 
Fatal to harvests is the crushing rain ; 
To the green woods the winds destructive prove, 
To me the rage of mine offended love. 

MENALCAS. 

The willow 's grateful to the pregnant ewes, 
Showers to the com, to kids the mountain -brows; 
More grateful far to me my lovely boy. 
In sweet Amyntas centres all my joy. 

DAMCETAS. 

Even Pollio deigns to hear my rural lays, 
And cheers the bashful Muse with generous praise; 
Ye sacred Nine, for your great patron feed 
A beauteous heifer of the noblest breed. 

MENALCAS. 

Pollio, the art of heavenly song adonis ; 
Then let a bull be bred with butting horns. 
And ample front, that bellowing spurns the ground, 
Tears up the turf, and throws the sands around. 

DAM(ETAS. 

Ilim whom ray Pollio loves may nought annoy 
May he, like Pollio, every wish enjoy. 
O may his happy lands with honey flow. 
And on his thorns Assyrian roses blow I 



192 THE POEMS 



MENALCAS. 

Who hates not foolish Bavius, let him love 
Thee, Mtevius, and thy tasteless rhymes approve 
Nor needs it thy admirer's reason shock 
To milk the he-goats, and the foxes yoke. 

DAMCETAS. 

Ye boys, on garlands who employ your care, 
And pull the creeping strawberries, beware ! 
Fly for your lives, and leave that fatal place ; 
A deadly snake lies lurking in the grass. 

MENALCAS. 

Forbear, my flocks, and warily proceed, 
Nor on that faithless bank securely tread ; 
The heedless ram late plung'd amid the pool, 
And in the sun now dries his reeking wool. 

DAMCETAS. 

Ho, Tityrus ! lead back the browsing flock, 
And let them feed at distance from the brook ; 
At bathing-time I to the shade will bring 
My goats, and wash them in the cooling spring. 

MENALCAS. 

Haste, from the sultry lawn the flocks remove 
To the cool shelter of the shady grove ; 
When burning noon the curdling udder dries, 
Th' ungrateful teats in vain the shepherd plies. 



OF BEATTIE. 193 



DAMCETAS. 

How lean my bull in yonder mead appears, 
Though the fat soil the richest pasture bears ; 
All Love ! thou reign'st supreme in every heart, 
Both flocks and shepherds languish with thy dart. 

MENALCAS. 

Love has not injur'd my consumptive flocks, 
Yet bare their bones, and faded are their looks • 
What envious eye hath squinted on my dams, 
And sent its poison to my tender lambs ! 

DAMCETAS. 

Say in what distant land the eye descries 
But three short ells of all th' expanded skies ; 
Tell this, and great Apollo be your name ; 
Your skill is equal, equal be your fame. 

MENALCAS. 

Say in what soil a wondrous flower is born, 
Whose leaves the sacred names of kings adorn : 
Tell this, and take my Phyllis to your arms. 
And reign the unrivall'd sovereign of her charms. 

PAL^MON. 

'Tis not for me these high disputes to end ; 
Each to the heifer justly may pretend. 
13 



194 THE POEMS 

Such be their fortune, who so well can sing 
From love what painful joys, what pleasing tor- 
ments spring. 
Now, boys, obstruct the course of yonder rill : 
The meadows have already drunk their fill. 



PASTORAL IV.^ 

POLLIO. 

Sicilian Muse, sublimer strains inspire, 
And warm my bosom with diviner fire ! 
All take not pleasure in the rural scene, 
In lowly tamarisks, and forests green. 

i In this fourth pastoral, no particular landscape is deline- 
ated. The whole is a prophetic song of triumph. But a3 
almost all the images and allusions are of the rural kind, it is 
no less a true bucolic than the others ; if we admit the defini- 
tion of a pastoral, given us by an author of the first rank,* 
who calls it "A poem in which any action or passion is re- 
presented by its effects upon country life." 

It is of little importance to inqviire on what occasion this 
poem was written. The spirit of prophetic enthusiasm that 
breathes through it, and the resemblance it bears in many 
places to the Oriental manner, make it not improbable that 
our poet composed it partly from some pieces of ancient pro- 
phecy that might have fallen into his hands, and that he 
afterwards inscribed it to his friend and patron Pollio, on ac- 
casion of the birth of his son Salonius. 



* The author of the RaiTibler. 



OF BEATTIE. 195 

If sylvan themes we sing, then let our lays 
Deserve a consul's ear, a consul's praise. 

The age comes on, that future age of gold 
In Cuma's mystic prophecies foretold. 
The years begin their mighty course again, 
The Virgin now returns, and the Saturnian reign. 
Now from the lofty mansions of the sky 
To Earth descends an heaven-born progeny. 
Thy Phoebus reigns; Lucina, lend thine aid; 
Nor be his birth, his glorious birth delay'd ! 
An iron race shall then no longer rage, 
But all the world regain the golden age. 
This child, the joy of nations, shall be born 
Thy consulship, O PoUio, to adorn : 
Thy consulship these happy times shall prove, 
And see the mighty months begin to move : 
Then all our former guilt shall be forgiven, 
And man shall dread no more th' avenging doom 
of Heaven. 

The son with heroes and with gods shall shine, 
And lead, enroll'd with them, the life divine. 
He o'er the peaceful nations shall preside, 
And his sire's virtues shall his sceptre guide. 
To thee, auspicious babe, th' unbidden earth 
Shall bring the earliest of her flowery birth ; 
Acanthus soft in smiling beauty gay, 
The blossom'd bean, and ivy's Haunting spray. 
Th' untcnded goats shall to their homes re{)air, 
And to the milker's hand the loaded udder bear. 
The mighty lion shall no more be fear'd, 



196 THE rOEMS 

But graze innoxious with tlie friendly herd. 
Sprung from thy cradle fragrant flowers shall 

spread, 
And, fanning bland, shall wave around thy head. 
Then shall the serpent die, with all his race ; 
No deadly herb the happy soil disgrace ; 
Assyrian balm on every bush shall bloom, 
And breathe in every gale its rich perfume. 

But when thy father's deeds thy youth shall fire, 
And to great actions all thy soul inspire, 
Wiien thou shalt read of heroes and of kings, 
And mark the glory that from virtue sj^rings ; 
Then boundless o'er the far-extended plain, 
Shall wave luxuriant crops of golden grain. 
With purple grapes the loaded thorn shall bend, 
And streaming honey from the oak descend. 
Nor yet old fraud shall wholly be eifac'd : 
Navies for wealth shall roam the watery waste ; 
Proud cities fenc'd with towery walls appear, 
And cruel shares shall earth's soft bosom tear. 
Another Tiphys o'er the swelling tide 
With steady skill the bounding ship shall guide; 
Another Argo with the flower of Greece 
From Colchos' shore shall waft the golden fleece ; 
Again the world shall hear war's loud alarms, 
And great Achilles shine again in arms, [brace, 

When riper years thy strengthen'd nerves shall 
And o'er thy limbs diffuse a manly grace, 
The mariner no more shall plough the deep, 
Nor load with foreign wares the trading ship; 



OF BEATTIE. 197 

Each country shall abound in every store, 
Nor need the products of another shore. 
Henceforth no plough shall cleave the fertile 

ground, 
No pruning-hook the tender vine shall wound ; 
The husbandman, with toil no longer broke, 
Shall loose his ox for ever from the yoke. 
No more the wool a foreign dye shall feign, 
But purple flocks shall graze the flowery plain ; 
Glittering in native gold the ram shall tread. 
And scarlet lambs shall wanton on the mead. 

In concord join'd with ftite's unalter'd law. 
The Destinies these happy times foresaw ; 
They bade the sacred spindle swiftly run, 
And hasten the auspicious ages on. 

dear to all thy kindred gods above ! 
thou, the offspring of eternal Jove ! 
Receive thy dignities, begin thy reign. 
And o'er the world extend thy wide domain. 
See nature's mighty frame exulting round, 
Ocean, and earth, and heaven's immense profound ! 
See nations yet unborn with joy behold 
Thy glad approach, and hail the age of gold ! 

O would th' immortals lend a length of days. 
And give a soul subhme to sound thy praise ; 
Would Heaven this breast, this labouring breast 

inflame 
With ardour equal to the mighty theme ; 
Not Orpheus with diviner transports glow'd, 
When all her fire his mother-muse bestow'd ; 



198 THE POEMS 

Nor loftier numbers flow'd from Linus' tongue, 
Although his sire Apollo gave the song ; 
Even Pan, in presence of Arcadian swains 
Would vainly strive to emulate my strains. 
Repay a parent's care, O beauteous boy, 
And greet thy mother with a smile of joy . 
For thee, to loathing languors all resign'd. 
Ten slow-revolving months thy mother pin'd. 
If cruel fate thy parents bliss denies,^ 
If no fond joy sits smiling in thine eyes. 
No nymph of heavenly birth shall crown thy love, 
Nor shalt thou share th' immortal feasts above. 



PASTORAL V.i 

MENALCAS, MOPSUS. 
MENALCAS. 

Since you with skill can touch the tuneful reed, 
Since few my verses or my voice exceed, 
In this refreshing shade shall we recline. 
Where hazels with the lofty elms combine ? 

2 This passage has perplexed all the critics. Out of t 
number of significations that have been offered, the translatoi 
has pitched upon one which he thinks the most agreeable tc 
the scope of the poem and most consistent with the language 
of the original. The reader, who wants more particulars on 
this head, may consult Servius, De La Cerda, or Ruseus. 

1 Here we discover Menalcas and Mopsus seated in an 



OF BEATTIE. 199 

MOPSUS. 

Your riper age a due respect requires, 
'Tis mine to yield to wliat my friend desires ; 
Whether you choose the zephyr's fanning breeze, 
That shakes the wavering shadows of the trees, 
Or the deep-shaded grotto's cool retreat. 
And see yon cave screen'd from the scorching heat, 
Where the wild vine its curling tendrils weaves, 
Whose grapes glow ruddy through the quivering 
leaves. 

MENALCAS. 

Of all the swains that to our hills belong, 
Amyntas only vies with you in song. 

MOPSUS. 

What, though with me that haughty shepherd vie, 
Who proudly dares Apollo's self defy ? 

MENALCAS. 

Begin : let Alcon's praise inspire your strains,^ 
Or Codrus' death, or Phyllis' amorous pains. 
Begin, whatever theme your Muse prefer: 
To feed the kids be, Tityrus, thy care. 

arbour formed by the interwoven twigs of a wild vine. A 
grove of hazels and elms surrounds this arbour. The season 
seems to be Summer. The time of the dny is not specified. 
2 From this passage it is evident that Virgil thouglit pas- 
toral poetry capable of a much greater variety in its subjects 
than some modern critics will allow. 



20v0 THE POEMS 

MOPSUS. 

I rather .will repeat that mournful song 
Which late I carv'd the verdant beech along ; 
(I carv'd and trill'd by turns the labour'd lay) 
And let Amyntas match me if he may. 

MENALCAS. 

As slender willows where the olive grows, 
Or sordid shrubs when near the scarlet rose, 
Such (if the judgment I have form'd be true) 
Such is Amyntas when compar'd with you. 

MOPSUS. 

No more, Menalcas ; we delay too long, 
The grot's dim shade invites my promis'd song. 
"When Daphnis fell by fate's remorseless blow,^ 
The weeping nymphs pour'd wild the plaint of woe ; 
Witness, O hazel-grove, and winding stream, 
For all your echoes caught the mournful theme. 
In agony of grief his mother prest 
The clay-cold carcass to her throbbing breast. 
Frantic with anguish wail'd his hapless fate, 
Rav'd at the stars, and Heaven's relentless hate. 

8 It is the most general and most probable conjecture, that 
Julius Caesar is the Daphnis whose death and deification are 
here celebrated. Some, however, are of opinion, that by 
Daphnis is meant a real shepherd of Sicily of that name, who 
is said to have invented bucolic poetry, and in honour of 
whom the Sicilians performed yearly sacrifices. 



or BEATTIE. 201 

'Twas then the swains in deep despair forsook 
Their pining flocks, nor led them to the brook ; 
The pining flocks for him their pastures shght, 
Noi' grassy plains, nor cooling streams invite. 
The doleful tidings reach'd the Libyan shores, 
And lions mourn'd in deep repeated roars. 
His cruel doom the woodlands wild bewail, 
And plaintive hills repeat the melancholy tale. 
'Twas he who first Armenia's tigers broke, 
And tam'd their stubborn natures to the yoke ; 
He first with ivy wrapt the thyrsus round. 
And made the hills with Bacchus' rites resound.^ 
As vines adorn the trees which they entwine, 
As purple clusters beautify the vine. 
As bulls the herd, as corns the fertile plains, 
The godlike Daphnis dignified the swains. 
When Daphnis from our eager hopes was torn, 
Phcebus and Pales left the plains to mourn. 
Now weeds and wretched tares the crop subdue, 
Where store of generous wheat but lately grew. 
Narcissus' lovely flower no more is seen, 
No more the velvet violet decks the green ; 
Thistles for these the blasted meadow yields. 
And thorns and frizzled burs deform the fields. 
Swains, shade the springs, and let the ground be 

drest 
With verdant leaves ; 'twas Daphnis' last request. 

4 This can be applied only to Julius Cajsar ; for it was he 
who introduced at Rome the celebration of the Bacchanalian 
revels. — Scrvius . 



202 THE roKMS 

Erect a tomb in honour to his mime; 
Mark'd with this verse to celebrate his fame: 
" The swains with Daphnis' name this tomb adorn, 
Whose high renown above the skies is borne ; 
Fair was his flock, he fairest on the plain, 
The pride, the glory of the sylvan reign." 

MENALCAS. 

Sweeter, O bard divine, thy numbers seem, 
Than to the scorched swain the cooling stream. 
Or soft on fragrant flowerets to recline, 
And the tir'd limbs to balmy sleep resign, [praise 
Blest youth ! whose voice and pipe demand the 
Due but to thine, and to thy master's lays. 
I in return the darling theme will choose, ^ 
And Daphnis' praises shall inspire my Muse ; 
He in my song shall high as Heaven ascend. 
High as the Heavens, for Daphnis was my friend. 

MOPS us. 
His virtues sure our noblest numbers claim ; 
Nought can delight me more than such a theme, 
Which in your song new dignity obtains ; 
Oft has our Stimichon extoll'd the strains. 

MENALCAS. 

Now Daphnis shines, among the gods a god, 
Struck with the splendours of his new abode: 
Beneath his footstool far remote appear 
The clouds slow-sailing, and the starry sphere. 



OF BEATTIE. 203 

Hence lawns and groves with gladsome raptures 

ring, 
The 'swains, the njmphs, and Pan in concert sing. 
The wolves to murder are no more inclin'd, 
No guileful nets ensnare the wandering hind, 
Deceit and violence and rapine cease, 
For Daphnis loves the gentle arts of peace. 
From savage mountains shouts of transport rise, 
Borne in triumphant echoes to the skies : 
The rocks and shrubs emit melodious sounds, 
Tlirough nature's vast extent the god, the god 

rebounds. 
Be gracious still, still present to our prayer ; 
Four altars, lo I we build with pious care : 
Two for th' inspiring god of song divine. 
And two, propitious Daphnis, shall be thine. 
Two bowls white-foaming with their milky store, 
Of generous oil two brimming goblets more. 
Each year we shall present before thy shrine, 
And cheer the feast with liberal drauglits of wine; 
Before the fire when winter-storms invade; 
In summer's heat beneath tlie breezy shade, 
The hallow'd bowls with wine of Chios crown'd, 
Shall pour their sparkling nectar to the ground. 
Damoetas shall with Lyctian^ -^gon play. 
And celebrate with festive strains the day. 
Alphesiboeus to the sprightly song 
Shall like the dancing Satyrs trip along. 
These rites shall still be paid, so justly due, 
6 Lvctiura was a city of Crete. 



204 THE rOEMS 

Both when the nymphs receive our annual vow, 
And when with solemn songs, and victims crown'd, 
Our lands in long procession we surround. 
While fishes love the streams and briny deep, 
And savage boars the mountain's rocky steep. 
While grasshoppers their dewy food delights, 
While balmy thyme the busy bee invites, 
So long shall last thine honours and thy fame, 
So long the shepherds shall resound -thy name. 
Such rites to thee shall husbandmen ordain. 
As Ceres and the god of wine obtain : 
Thou to our prayers propitiously inclin'd 
Thy grateful suppliants to their vows shall bind. 

MOPSUS. 

What boon, dear shepherd, can your song requite? 
For nought in nature yields so sweet delight. 
Not the soft sighing of the southern gale, 
That faintly breathes along the flowery vale ; 
Nor, when light breezes curl the liquid plain. 
To tread the margin of the murmuring main ; 
Nor melody of streams, that roll away 
Through rocky dales, delights me as your lay. 

MENALCAS. 

No mean reward, my friend, your verses claim ; 
Take then this flute that breath 'd the plaintive theme 
Of Corydon f when proud Damoetas' tried 
To match my skill, it dash'd his hasty pride. 

6 See Pastoral Second. ' See Pastoral Third. 



OF BEATTIE. 205 

Morsus. 
And let this sheepcrook by ray friend be worn, 
Which brazen studs in beamy rows adorn ; 
This fair Antigenes oft begg'd to gain, 
But all his beauty, all his prayers were vain. 



PASTORAL VI.i 

SILENUS. • 

My sportive Muse first sung Sicilian strains, 
Nor blusli'd to dwell in woods and lowly plains. 
To sing of kings and wars when I aspire, 
Apollo checks my vainly-rising fire : 
" To swains the flock and sylvan pipe belong. 
Then choose some humbler theme, nor dare lieroic 

song." 
The voice divine, O Varus, I obey, 
And to my reed shall chant a rural lay ; 
vSince others long thy praises to rehearse, 
And sing thy battles in immortal verse. 
Yet if these songs, which Phoebus bids me write, 
Hereafter to the swains shall yield delight, 

1 The cave of Silenus, which is the scene of this eclogue, 
is delineated with sufficient accuracy. The time seems to be 
the evening; at least the song does notecase till the flocka 
are folded and the evening star appears. 



206 I THE POEMS 

or thee the trees and humble shrubs shall sing, 
And all the vocal grove with Varus ring. 
The song inscrib'd to Varus' sacred name 
To Phoebus' favour has the justest claim. 

Come then, my Muse, a sylvan song repeal. 
'Twas in his shady arbour's cool retreat 
Two youthful swains the god Silenus found, 
In drunkenness and sleep his senses bound ; 
His turgid veins the late debauch betray ; 
His garland on the ground neglected lay. 
Fallen from his head ; and by the well-worn ear 
Plis cup of ample size depended near. 
Sudden the swains the sleeping god surprise. 
And with his garland bind him as he lies, 
(No better chain at hand) incens'd so long 
To be defi-auded of their promis'd song. 
To aid their project, and remove their fears, 
JEgle, a beauteous fountain-nymph, appears ; 
Who, while he hardly opes his heavy eyes. 
His stupid brow with bloody berries dyes. 
Then smiling at the fraud Silenus said, 
"And dare you thus a sleeping god invade ? 
To see me was enough ; but haste, unloose 
My bonds ; the song no longer I refuse. 
Unloose me, youths ; my song shall pay your pains; 
For this fair nymph another boon remains." 

He sung ; responsive to the heavenly sound 
The stubborn oaks and forests dance around. 
Tripping the Satyrs and the Fauns advance. 
Wild beasts forget their rage, and join the general 
dance. 



OF BEATTIE. 207 

Not SO Parnassus' listening rocks rejoice, 
When Phoebus raises his celestial voice ; 
Nor Thracia's echoing mountains so admire, 
When Orpheus stiikes the loud-lamenting lyre. 

For first he sung of Nature's wondrous birth ; 
How seeds of water, air, and iiarae, and earth, 
Down the vast void with casual impulse hurl'd. 
Clung into shapes, and form'd this fabric of the 

world. 
Then hardens by degrees the tender soil, 
And from the mighty mound the seas recoil. 
O'er the wide world new various forms arise ; 
The infant Sun along the bright en'd skies 
Begins his course, while Earth with glad amazo 
The blazing wonder from below surveys. 
The clouds sublime their genial moisture shed, 
And the green grove lifts high its leafy head. 
The savage beasts o'er desert mountains roam, 
Yet few their numbers, and unknown their home. 
He next the blest Saturnian ages sung ; 
How a new race of men from Pyrrlia sprung ; ^ 
Prometheus' daring theft, and ch'eadful doom. 
Whose growing heart devouring birds consume. 
Then names the spring renown'd for Hylas' fate, 
By the sad mariners bewail'd too late : 
They call on Hylas with repeated cries, 
And Hylas, Hylas, all the lonesome shore replies. 
Next he bewails Pasiphos (hapless dame !) 
Who for a bullock felt a brutal flame. 
2 See Ovid. Met. Lib. I. 



208 THE POEMS 

What fury fires thy bosom, frantic queen ! 
How liappy thou, if herds had never been ! 
The maids whom Juno, to avenge her wrong,* 
Like heifers doom'd to low the vales along, 
Ne'er felt the rage of thy detested fire. 
Ne'er were polluted with thy foul desire ; 
Though oft for horns they felt their polish'd brow. 
And their soft necks oft fear'd the galling plough. 
Ah wretched queen ! thou roam'st the mountain- 
waste, 
While, his white limbs on hlies laid to rest, 
The half-digested herb again he chews, 
Or some fair female of the herd pursues. 
" Beset, ye Cretan nymphs, beset the grove, 
And trace the wandering footsteps of my love. 
Yet let my longing eyes my love behold, 
Before some favourite beauty of the fold 
Entice him with Gortynian * herds to stray. 
Where smile the vales in richer pasture gay." 
He sung how golden fruit's resistless grace 
Decoy 'd the wary virgin from the race.^ 
Then wraps in bark the mourning sisters round,*' 
And rears the lofty alders from the ground. 

3 Their names were Lysippe, Ipponoe, and Cyrianassu. 
Juno, to be avenged of them for preferring their own beauty 
to hers, struck them with madness, to such a degree that 
they imagined themselves to be heifers. 

4 Gortyna was a city of Crete. See Ovid. Art. Am. 
Lib. I. 

5 Atalanta. See Ovid. Metamorph. Lib. X. 

6 See Ovid. Metamorph. Lib. IL 



OF BEATTIE. 209 

He sung, while Gallus by Permessus"^ stray'd, 

A sister of the nine the hero led 

To the Aonian hill ; the choir in haste 

Left their bright thrones, and hail'd the welcome 

guest. 
Linus arose, for sacred song renown'd, 
Whose brow a wreath of flowers and parsley 

bound ; 
And "Take," he said, "this pipe, which hereto- 
fore 
The far-fam'd shepherd of Ascraja ^ bore ; 
Then heard the mountain-oaks its magic sound, 
Leap'd from their hills, and thronging danced 

around. 
On this thou shalt renew the tuneful lay. 
And grateful songs to thy Apollo pay, 
Whose fani'd Gryna3an^ temple from thy strain 
Shall more exalted dignity obtain." 
Why should I sing unhappy Scylla's fate ? ^ 
Sad monument of jealous Circe's hate : 
Round her white breast what furious monsters roll, 
And to the dashing waves incessant howl : 
How from the ships that bore Ulysses' crew ^ 
Her dogs the trembling sailors dragg'd, and slew. 

' A river in Boeotia arising from Mount Helicon, sacred to 
the Muses. 

8 Hesiod. 

9 Grynium was a maritime town of the Lesser Asia, where 
were an ancient temple and oracle of Apollo. 

1 See Virgil, iEn. UI. 

2 Sec Homer, Odyss. Lib. XIL 

14 



210 THE POEMS 

Of Philomela's feast why should I sing,^ 
And what dire chance befell the Thracian king? 
Changed to a lapwing by th' avenging god, 
He made the barren waste his lone abode, 
And oft on soaring pinions hover'd o'er 
The lofty palace then his own no more. 

The tuneful god renews each pleasing theme 
Which Phoebus sung by blest Eurotas' stream ; 
When bless'd Eurotas gently flow'd along, 
And bade his laurels learn the lofty song. 
Silenus sung ; the vocal vales reply, 
And heavenly music charms the listening sky. 
But now their folds the number'd flocks invite, 
The star of evening sheds its trembling light, 
And the unwilling heavens are wrapt in night. 



PASTORAL Vn.i 

MELIBCEUS, CORYDON, THYRSIS. 
MEHBGEUS. 

Beneath an holm that murmur'd to the breeze 
The youthful Daphnis lean'd in rural ease : 
With him two gay Arcadian swains reclin'd. 
Who in the neighbouring vale their flocks had join'd ; 

8 See Ovid's Metamorph, Lib. VI. 

1 The scene of this pastoral is as follows. Four shepherds, 
Dapluiis iu the most distinguished place, Corydon, Thyrsis, 



OF BEATTIE. 211 

Tliyrsis, whose ^are it was the goats to keep, 
And Cory don, who fed the fleecy sheep ; 
Both in the flowery prime of youthful days, 
Both skill'd in single or responsive lays. 
Wliile I with busy hand a shelter form 
To guard my myrtles from the future storm, 
The husband of my goats had ohanced to stray : 
To find the vagrant out I take my way. 
Which Daphnis seeing cries, " Dismiss your fear, 
Your kids and goat are all in safety here ; 
And, if no other care require your stay. 
Come, and with us unbend the toils of day 
In this cool shade ; at hand your heifers feed, 
And of themselves will to the watering speed ; 
Here fringed with reeds slow Mincius winds along, 
And round yon oak the bees soft-murmuring 
, throng." 

What could I do ? for I was left alone ; 
My Phyllis and Alcippe both were gone. 
And none remain'd to feed my weanling lambs, 
And to restrain them from their bleatings^ams. 
Betwixt the swains a solemn match was set. 
To prove their skill, and end a long debate : 



and Melibceus, are seen reclining beneath an holm. Sheep 
and goats intennixed are feeding hard by. At a little dis- 
tance, Mincius, fringed with reeds, appears winding along. 
Fields and trees compose the surrounding scene. A venerable 
oak, with bees swarming around it, is particularly distin- 
guished. The time seems to be the forenoon of a summer 
day. 



212 THE POEMS 

Though serious matters claim'd my due regard, 
Their pastime to my business I preferr'd. 
To sing by turns the Muse inspir'd the swains, 
And Corydon began th' alternate strains. 

CORYDON. 

Ye nymphs of Helicon, my sole desire, 
O warm my breast with all my Codrus' fire ! 
If none can equal Codrus' heavenly lays 
(For next to Phoebus he deserves the praise), 
No more I ply the tuneful art divine ; 
My silent pipe shall hang on yonder pine. 

THYRSIS. 

Arcadian swains, an ivy wreatli bestow, 
With early honours crown your poet's brow ; 
Codrus shall chafe, if you my songs commend, t 
Till burning spite his tortur'd entrails rend : 
Or amulets, to bind my temples, frame, 
Lest his invidious praises blast my fame. 

CORYDON. 

A stag's tall horns, and,stain'd with savage gore. 
This bristled visage of a tusky boar. 
To thee, O virgin-goddess of the chase. 
Young Mycon offers for thy former grace. 
If like success his future labours crown. 
Thine, goddess, then shall be a nobler boon ; 
In polish'd marble thou shalt shine complete, 
And purple sandals shall adorn thy feet. 



OF BEATTIE. 213 



THYRSIS. 

To thee, Priapus,^ each returning year, 
This bowl of milk, these hallo vv'd cakes we bear; 
Thy care, our garden, is but meanly stor'd. 
And mean oblations all we can afford. 
But if our flocks a numerous offspring yield, 
And our decaying fold again be fiU'd, 
Though now in marble thou obscurely shine, 
For thee a golden statue we design. 

CORYDON. 

O Galatea, whiter than the swan, 
Loveliest of all thy sisters of the main, 
Sweeter than Hybla, more than lilies fair ! 
If ought of Corydon employ thy care, 
When shades of night involve the silent sky. 
And slumbering in their stalls the oxen lie. 
Come to my longing arms, and let mq, prove 
Th' immortal sweets of Galatea's love. 

THYRSIS. 

As the vile sea-weed scatter'd by the storm, 
As he whose face Sardinian herbs deform,^ 
As burs and brambles that disgrace the plain, 
So nauseous, so detested be thy swain, 

2 This deity presided over gardens. 

8 It was the property of this poisonous herb to distort the 
features of those who had eaten of it, in such a manner that 
they seemed to expire in an agony of laughter. 



214 THE rOEMS 

If, when thine absence I am doom'd to bear, 
The day appears not longer than a year. 
Go home, ray flocks, ye lengthen out the day ; 
For shame, ye tardy flocks, for shame away I 

CORTDON. 

Ye mossy fountains, warbling as ye flow, 
And softer than the slumbers ye bestow ! 
Ye grassy banks ! ye trees with verdure crown'd, 
Whose leaves a glimmering shade diffuse around ! 
Grant to my weary flocks a cool retreat, 
And screen them from the summer's raging heat : 
For now the year in brightest glory shines, 
Nos reddening clusters deck the bending vines. 

THYRSIS. 

Here 's wood for fuel ; here the fire displays 
To all around its animating blaze. 
Black with continual smoke our posts appear ; 
Nor dread we more the rigour of the year. 
Than tlie fell wolf the fearful lambkins dreads, 
When he the helpless fold by night invades ; 
Or swelling torrents, headlong as they roll. 
The weak resistance of the shatter'd mole. 

CORYDON. 

Now yellow harvests wave on every field. 
Now bending b(»ughs the hoary chestnut yield; 
Now loaded trees resign their annual store. 
And on the ground the mellow fruitage pour. 



OF BEATTIE. 215 

Jocund, the face of Nature smiles, and gay ; 
But if the fair Alexis were away, 
Inclement drought the hardening soil would drain, 
And streams no longer murmur o'er the plain. 

THYRSIS. 

A languid hue the thirsty fields assume, 
Parch'd to the root the flowers resign their bloom ; 
The faded vines refuse their hills to shade. 
Their leafy verdure wither'd and decay'd. 
But if my Phyllis on these plains appear. 
Again the groves their gayest green shall wear ; 
Again the clouds their copious moisture lend. 
And in the genial rain shall Jove descend. 

OORYDON. 

Alcides' brows the poplar-leaves surround, 
Apollo's beamy locks with bays are crown'd, 
The myrtle, lovely queen of smiles, is thine. 
And jolly Bacchus loves the curling vine ; 
But while my PhyUis loves the hazel-spray, 
To hazel yield the myrtle and the bay. 

THYRSIS. 

The fir, the hills ; the ash adorns the woods ; 
The pine, the gardens ; and the poplar, floods. 
If thou, my Lycidas, wilt deign to come. 
And cheer thy shepherd's solitary home. 
The ash, so fair in woods, and garden-pine, 
Will own their beauty far excell'd by thine. 



216 THE POEMS 



MELIBOEUS. 

So sung the swains, but Thyrsis strove in vain ; 
Thus far I bear in mind th' alternate strain. 
Young Corydon acquir'd unrivall'd fame, 
And still we pay a deference to his name. 



PASTORAL Vm.! 

DAMON, ALPHESIBCEUS. 

Rehearse we, Pollio, the enchanting strains 

Alternate sung by two contending swains. 

Charm'd by their songs, the hungry heifers stood 

In deep amaze, unmindful of their food ; 

The listening lynxes laid their rage aside, 

The streams were silent, and forgot to glide. 

O thou, where'er thou lead'st thy conquering host, 

Or by Timavus," or th' Illyrian coast. 

When shall my Muse, transported with the theme, 

In strains sublime my Pollio's deeds proclaim. 

And celebrate thy lays, by all admir'd, 

1 In this eighth pastoral no particular scene is described. 
The poet rehearses the songs of two contending swains, Da- 
mon and Alphesiboeus. The former adopts the soliloquy of 
a despairing lover: the latter chooses for his subject the magic 
rites of an enchantress forsaken by her lover, and recalling 
him by the power of her spells. 

2 A river in Italy. 



OF BEATTIE. 217 

Such as of old Sophocles' Muse inspir'd ? 
To thee, the patron of my rural songs, 
To thee my first, my latest lay belongs. 
Then let this humble ivy-wreath enclose, 
Twin'd with triumphal bays, thy godlike brows. 

What time the chill sky brightens with the dawn, 
When cattle love to crop the dewy lawn, 
Thus Damon to the woodlands wild complain'd, 
As 'gainst an olive's lofty trunk he lean'd. 

DAMON. 

Lead on the genial day, O star of morn ! 
While wretched I, all hopeless and forlorn. 
With my last breath my fatal woes deplore, 
And call the gods by whom false Nisa swore ; 
Though they, regardless of a lover's pain. 
Heard her repeated vows, and heard in vain. 
Begin, my pipe, the sweet Micnalian strain.^ 

Blest Maenalus ! that hears the pastoral song 
Still languishing its tuneful groves along; 
That hears th' Arcadian god's celestial lay, 
Who taught the idly-rustling reeds to play ; 
That hears the singing pines ; that hears the swain 
Of love's soft chains melodiously complain. 
Begin, my pipe, the sweet Ma^nalian strain. 

8 This intercalary line (as it is called by the commentn- 
tors),\vhich seems to be intended as a chorus or burden to the 
song, is here made the last of a triplet, that it may be as in- 
dependent of the context and the verse,in the translation, as it 
is in the original. — Mrenalus was a mountain of Arcadia. 



218 THE POEMS 

Mopsus the willing Nisa now enjoys — 
What may not lovers hope from such a choice ! 
Now mares and griffins shall their hate resign, 
And the succeeding age shall see them join 
In friendship's tie ; now mutual love shall bring 
The dog and doe to share the friendly spring. 
Scatter thy nuts, O Mopsus, and prepare 
The nuptial torch to light the wedded fair. 
Lo, Hesper hastens to the western main. 
And thine the night of bliss — thine, happy swain ! 
Begin, my pipe, the sweet Mgenalian strain. 

Exult, O Nisa, in thy happy state ! 
Supremely blest in such a worthy mate ; 
While you my beard detest, and bushy brow, 
And think tlie gods forget the world below: 
While you my flock and rural pipe disdain. 
And treat with bitter scorn a faithful swain. 
Begin, my pipe, the sweet Meenalian strain. 

When first I saw you by your mother's side. 
To where our apples grew I was your guide : 
Twelve summers since my birth had roU'd around, 
And I could reach the branches from the ground. 
How did I gaze ! — how perish ! — ah how vain 
The fond bewitching hopes that sooth'd my pain ! 
Begin, my pipe, the sweet Moenalian strain. 

Too well I know thee. Love. From Scythian 
Or Lybia's burning sands the mischief rose, [snows, 
Rocks adamantine nurs'd this foreign bane. 
This fell invader of the peaceful plain. 
Begin, my pipe, the sweet Mecnalian strain. 



OF BEATTIE. 219 

Love tauslit the mother's* murderinci; hand to 

kill, 

Her children's blood love bade the mother spill. 
Was love the cruel cause ? ^ Or did the deed 
From fierce unfeeling cruelty proceed ? 
Both fill'd her brutal bosom with their bane ; 
Both urg'd the deed, while Nature shrunk in vain. 
Begin, my pipe, the sweet Ma3nahan strain. 

Now let the fearful lamb the wolf devour ; 
Let alders blossom with Narcissus' flower ; 
From barren shrubs let radiant amber flow ; 
Let rujijfl^ed oaks with crolden fruitafire glow ; 
Let shrieking owls with swans melodious vie ; 
Let Tityrus the Thracian numbers try, 
Outrival Orpheus in the sylvan reign. 
And emulate Arion on the main. 
Begin, my pipe, the sweet Mienalian strain. 

Let land no more the swelling waves divide ; 
Earth, be thou whelm'd beneath the boundless 

tide; 
Headlong from yonder promontory's brow 
I plunge into the rolling deep below. 
Farewell, ye woods ! farewell, thou flowery plain ! 
Hear the last lay of a despairing swain, 
And cease, my pipe, the sweet Maenalian strain. 

4 Medea. 

6 This seems to be Virgil's meaning. The translator did 
not choose to preserve the conceit on the words puer and 
mater in his version; as this (in his opinion) would have ren- 
dered the passage obscure and unpleasing to an English'' 
reader. 



220 THE POEMS 

Here Damon ceas'd. And now, ye tuneful Nine, 
Alphesiboeus' magic verse subjoin, 
To liis responsive song your aid we c^l; 
Our power extends not equally to all. 

ALPHESIBCEUS. 

Bring living waters from the silver stream, 
With vervain and fat incense feed the flame : 
With this soft wreath the sacred altars bind, 
To move my cruel Daphnis to be kind. 
And with my phrensy to inflame his soul : 
Charms are but wanting to complete the whole. 
Bring Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms, 
O bring my long-lost love, my powerful charms. 

By powerful charms what prodigies are done ! 
Charms draw pale Cynthia from her silver throne; 
Charms burst the bloated snake, and Circe's^ 

guests 
By mighty magic charms were changed to beasts. 
Bring Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms, 
bring my long-lost love, my powerful charms. 

Three woollen wreaths, and each of triple dye, 
Three times about thy image I apply ; 
Then thrice I bear it round the sacred shrine ; 
Uneven numbers please the powers divine. 
Bring Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms, 
bring my long-lost love, my powerful charms. 

Haste, let three colours with three knots be join'd. 
And say, " Thy fetters, Venus, thus I bind." 
6 See Horn. Odyss. Lil). X. 



OF BEATTTE. 221 

Bring Daplinis home, bring Daphnis to my arms, 
O bring my long-lost love, my powerful charms. 

As this soft clay is harden'd by the flame, 
And as this wax is soften'd by the same, 
My love, that harden'd Daphnis to disdain. 
Shall soften his relenting heart again. 
Scatter the salted corn, and place the bays. 
And with fat brimstone light the sacred blaze. 
Daphnis my burning passion slights with scorn, 
And Daphnis in this blazing bay I burn. 
Bring Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms, 
bring my long-lost love, my powerful charms. 

As when, to find her love, an heifer roams 
Through trackless groves, and solitary glooms ; 
Sick with desire, abandon'd to her woes, 
By some lone stream her languid limbs she throws ; 
There in deep anguish wastes the tedious night, 
Nor thoughts of home her late return invite; 
Thus may he love, and thus indulge his pain, 
While I enhance his torments with disdain. 
Bring Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms, 
O bring my long-lost love, my powerful charms. 

These robes beneath the threshold here I leave, 
These pledges of his love, O Earth, receive. 
Ye dear memorials of our mutual fire, 
Of you my faithless Daphnis I require. 
Bring Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms, 
O bring my long-lost love, my powerful charms. 

These deadly poisons and these magic weeds, 
Selected from the store which Pontus breeds, 



222 THE POEMS 

Sage Moeris gave me ; oft I saw him prove 
Their sovereign power ; by these, along the grove 
A prowling, wolf the dread magician roams ; 
Now gliding ghosts from the profoundest tombs 
Inspired he calls ; the rooted corn he wings, 
And to strange fields the flying harvest brings. 
Bring Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms, 
O bring my long-lost love, my powerful charms. 

These ashes from the altar take with speed. 
And treading backwards cast them o'er your head 
Into the running stream, nor turn your eye. 
Yet this last spell, though hopeless, let me try. 
]^ut nought can move the unrelenting swain, 
And spells, and magic verse, and gods are vain ! 
liring Daphnis home, bring Daphnis to my arms, 
O bring my long-lost love, my powerful charms. 

Lo, while I hnger, with spontaneous fire 
The ashes redden, and the flames aspire ! 
May this new prodigy auspicious prove ! 
What fearful hopes my beating bosom move ! 
Hark ! does not Hylax bark ? ye powers supreme 
Can it be real, or do lovers dream ! — 
He comes, my Daphnis comes ! forbear,my charms 
My love, my Daphnis flies to bless my longing arras. 



OF BEATTIE. 223 



PASTORAL 1X.1 



LYCIDAS, M(EI11S. 



LYCIDAS. 

Go you to town, my friend ? this beaten way 
Conducts us thither. 



MCERIS. 



Ah ! the fatal day, 
The unexpected day at last is come, 



1 This and the first eclogue seem to have been written ou 
the same occasion. The time is a still evening. The land- 
scape is described at the 97th line of this translation. On 
one side of the highway is an artificial arbour, where Lycidas 
invites Mceris to rest a Uttle from the fatigue of his journey : 
and at a considerable distance appears a sepulchre by the 
way-side, where the ancient sepulchres were commonly 
erected. 

The critics with one voice seem to condemn this eclogue as 
unworthy of its author; I know not for what good reason. 
The many beautiful lines scattered through it would, one 
might think, be no weak recommendation. But it is by no 
means to be reckoned a loose collection of incoherent frag- 
ments; its principal parts are aU stiictly connected, and refer 
to a certain end, and its allusions and images are wholly 
suited to pastoral life. Its subject, though uncommon, is not 
improper; for what is more natural, than that two shepherds, 
when occasionally mentioning the good qualities of their ab- 
sent fiiend, particularly his poetical talents, should repeat 
such fragments of his songs as they recollected ? 



224 THE POEMS 

When a rude alien drives us from our home. 
" Hence, lience, ye clowns!" tli' usurper thus com- 
mands, 
" To me you must resign your ancient lands." 
Thus helpless and forlorn we yield to fate ; 
And our rapacious lord to mitigate 
This brace of kids a present I design, — 
Which load with curses, O ye powers divine ! 

LYCIDAS. 

'Twas said, Menalcas with his tuneful strains 
Had sav'd the grounds of all the neighbouring 

swains. 
From where the hill that terminates the vale 
In easy risings first begins to swell, 
Far as the blasted beech tliat mates the sky. 
And the clear stream that gently murmurs by. 

M(ER1S. 

Such was the voice of fame ; but music's charms, 
Amid the dreadful clang of warlike arms. 
Avail no more than the Chaonian dove 
When down the sky descends the bird of Jove. 
And had not the prophetic raven spoke 
His dire presages from the hollow oak. 
And often warn'd me to avoid debate, 
And with a patient mind submit to fate. 
Ne'er had thy Moeris seen this fatal hour. 
And that melodious swain liad been no more. 



OF BEATTIE. 225 

LYCIDAS. 

What horrid breasts such impious thoughts 
could breed ! 
What barbarous baud could make Menalcas bleed ; 
Could every tender Muse in him destroy, 
And from the shepherds ravish all their joy I 
For who but he the lovely nymphs could sing, 
Or paint the valleys with the purple spring ? 
Who shade the fountains from the glare of day ? 
Who but Menalcas could compose the lay. 
Which, as we journey'd to my love's abode, 
I softly sung to cheer the lonely road ? 
" Tityrus, while I am absent, feed the flock,^ 
And, having fed, conduct them to the brook 
(The way is short, and I shall soon return), 
But shun the he-goat with the butting horn." 

M(ERIS. 

Or who could finish the imperfect lays 
Sung by Menalcas to his Varus' praise ? 
" If fortune yet shall spare the Mantuan swains, 
And save from plundering hands our peaceful 
plains, 



2 These lines, which Virgil has translated literally from 
Theocritus, may be supposed to be a fragment of a poem 
mentioned in the preceding verses; or, what is more likely, 
to be spoken by Lycidas to his servant; something similar to 
which may be seen Past. 5. v. 20. of this translation. — The 
original is heie remarkably explicit, even to a degree of affec- 
tation. This the translator has endeavoured to imitate. 

15 



226 THE POEMS 

Nor doom us sad Cremona's fate to share 
(For ah ! a neighbour's woe excites our fear), 
Then high as Heaven our Varus' fame shall rise ; 
The warbling swans shall bear it to the skies.'* 

LTCIDAS. 

Go on, dear swain, these pleasing songs pursue ; 
So may thy bees avoid the bitter yew, 
So may rich herds thy fruitful fields adorn, 
So may thy cows with strutting dugs return. 
Even I with poets have obtain'd a name ; 
The Muse inspires me with poetic flame; 
Th' applauding shepherds to my songs attend, 
But I suspect my skill, though they commend. 
I dare not hope to please a Cinna's ear, 
Or sing what Varus might vouchsafe to hear. 
Harsh are the sweetest lays that I can bring : 
vSo screams a goose where swans melodious sing. 

MCERIS. 

This I am pondering, if I can rehearse 
The lofty numbers of that labour'd verse. 
" Come, Galatea, leave the rolling seas ; 
Can rugged rocks and heaving surges please ? 
Come, taste the pleasures of our sylvan bowers, 
Our balmy-breathing gales, and fragrant flowers. 
See, how our plains rejoice on every side. 
How crystal streams thro' blooming valleys glide : 
O'er the cool grot the whitening poplars bend, 
And clasping vines their giateful umbrage lend. 



OF BEATTIE. 227 

Come, beauteous nymph, forsake the briny wave; 
Loud on the beach let the wild billows rave." 

LYCIDAS. 

Or what you sung one evening on the plain — 
The air, but not the words, I yet retain. 

MCERTS. 

" Why, Daplmis, dost thou calculate the skies, 
To know when ancient constellations rise ? 
Lo, Ca3sar's star its radiant light displays, 
And on the nations sheds propitious rays. 
On the glad hills the reddening clusters glow, 
And smiling plenty decks the plains below. 
Now graff thy pears ; the star of Ca3sar reigns ; 
To thy remotest race the fruit remains." 
The rest I have forgot, for length of years 
Deadens the sense, and memory impairs. 
All things in time submit to sad decay. 
Oft have we sung whole summer suns away. 
These vanish'd joys must Mceris now deplore. 
His voice delights, his numbers charm no more ; 
Him have the wolves beheld, bewitch'd his song,^ 
Bewitch'd to silence his melodious tongue. 
But your desire Menalcas can fulfil. 
All these, and more, he sings with matchless 
skill. 

8 In Italia creditur luporum.visus esse noxius, vocemque 
homiiii Quem priores contemplentur adimere ad pracsens. 

Plin. N. n. Vlll. 22. 



228 THE roEMS 



LYCIDAS. 

These faint excuses which my Moeris frames 
But heighten my desire, — And now the streams 
In slumber-soothing murmurs softly flow, 
And now the sighing breeze hath ceas'd to blow. 
Half of our way is past, for I descry 
Bianor's tomb just rising to the eye.^ 
Here in this leafy harbour ease your toil, 
Lay down your kids, and let us sing the while : 
"We soon shall reach the town ; or, lest a storm 
Of sudden rain the evening-sky deform, 
Be yours to cheer the journey with a song, 
Eas'd of your load, which I shall bear along. 

MCERIS. 

No more, my friend ; your kind entreaties spare, 
And let our journey be our present care ; 
Let fate restore our absent friend again, 
Then gladly I resume the tuneful strain. 

4 Bianor is said to have founded Mantua. — Sei'vim. 



OF BEATTIE. 229 



i'ASTORAL X.1 



GALLUS. 

To my last labour lend thy sacred aid, 
Arethusa : that the cruel maid 
With deep remorse may read the mournful song, — ■ 
For mournful lays to Gallus' love belong : 
(What Muse in sympathy will not bestow 
Some tender strains to soothe my Gallus' woe ?) 
So may thy waters pure of briny stain 
Traverse the waves of the Sicilian main. 
Sing, mournful Muse, of Gallus' luckless love, 
While the groats browse along the cliffs above : 



o 



1 The scene of this pastoral is very accurately delineated. 
We behold the forlorn Gallus stretched along beneath a soli- 
tary cliff, his flocks standing round him at some distance. A 
group of deities and swains encircle him, each of whom is 
particularly described. On one side we see the shepherds 
with their crooks; next to them the neatherds, known by the 
clumsiness of their appearance; and next to these Menalcas, 
■with his clothes wet, as just come from beating or gathering 
winter-mast. On the other side we observe Apollo with his 
usual insignia; Sylvanus crowned with flowers, and bran- 
dishing in his hand the long lilies and flowering fennel; and 
last of all, Pan, the god of shepherds, known by his ruddy 
smiling countenance, and the other peculiarities of his form. 

Gallus was a Roman of very considerable rank, a poet of 
no small estimation, and an intimate friend of Virgil. He 
loved to distraction one Cytheris (here called Lycoris),who 
slighted hira, and followed Antony into Gaul. 



230 THE POEMS 

Nor silent is the waste while we complain : 
The woods return the long-resounding strain. 
Whither, ye fountain-nymphs, were ye with- 
drawn, 
To what lone woodland, or what devious lawn, 
When Gallus' bosom languish'd with the fire 
Of hopeless love, and unallay'd desire ? 
For neither by th' Aonian spring you stray'd. 
Nor roam'd Parnassus' heights, nor Pindus' hal- 

low'd shade. 
The pines of Maenalus were heard to mourn. 
And sounds of woe along the groves were borne; 
And sympathetic tears the laurel shed. 
And humbler shrubs declin'd their drooping head. 
All wept his fate, when to despair resign'd 
Beneath a desert-cliff he lay reclin'd. 
Lyceus' rocks were hung with many a tear, 
And round the swain his flocks forlorn appear. 
(Nor scorn, celestial bard, a poet's name ; 
Renown'd Adonis by the lonely stream 
Tended his flock.) As thus he lay along, [throng. 
The swains and awkward neatherds round him 
Wet from the winter-mast Menalcas came. 
All ask, what beauty rais'd the fatal flame. 
The god of verse vouchsafed to join the rest ; 
He said, " What phrensy thus torments thy breast? 
While she, thy darling, thy Lycoris, scorns 
Thy proffer'd love, and for another burns. 
With whom o'er winter-wastes she wanders far, 
'Midst camps, and clashing arms, and boisterous 
war." 



OF BEATTIE. 231 

Sylvanus came with rural garlands crown'd, 
And wav'd the lilies long and flowering fennel 

round. 
Next we beheld the gay Ai'cadian god ; 
His smiling cheeks with bright vermilion glow'd. 
" For ever wilt thou heave the bursting sigh ? 
Is love regardful of the weeping eye ? 
Love is not cloy'd with tears ; alas, no more 
Than bees luxurious with the balmy flow'f, 
Than goats with foliage, than the grassy plain 
With silver rills and soft refreshing rain." 
Pan spoke ; and thus the youth, with grief opprest ; 
"Arcadians, hear, O hear my last request ; 
O ye, to whom the sweetest lays belong, 
O let my sorrows on your hills be sung : 
If your soft flutes shall celebrate my woes, 
How will my bones in deepest peace repose ! 
Ah had I been with you a country-swain. 
And prun'd the vine, and fed the bleating train ; 
Had Phyllis, or some other rural fair. 
Or black Amyntas,been my darling care ; [seen 
(Beauteous though black ; what lovelier flower is 
Than the dark violet on the painted green ?) 
These in the bower had yielded all their charms. 
And sunk with mutual raptures in my arms : 
Phyllis had crown'd my head wdth garlands gay, 
Amyntas sung the pleasing hours away. 
Here, O Lycoris, purls the limpid spring. 
Bloom all the meads, and all the woodlands sing ; 
Here let me press thee to my panting breast 



232 THE POEMS 

Till youth, and joy, and life itself be past. 
Banish'd by love o'er hostile lands I stray, 
And mingle in the battle's dread array ; 
Whilst thou, relentless to my constant flame, 
(Ah could I disbelieve the voice of fame !) 
Far from thy home, unaided and forlorn, 
Far from thy love, thy faithful love, art borne, 
On the bleak Alps with chilling blast to pine, 
Or wander waste along the frozen Rhine. 
Ye icy paths, O spare her tender form ! 

spare those heavenly charms, thou wintry storm ! 
" Hence let me hasten to some desert-grove, 

And soothe with songs my long unanswer'd love. 

1 go, in some lone wilderness to suit 
Euboean lays to my Sicilian flute. 
Better with beasts of prey to make abode 
In the deep cavern, or the darksome wood ; 
And carve on trees the story of my woe. 
Which with the growing bark shall ever grow. 
Meanwhile with woodland-nymphs, a lovely 

throng, 
The winding groves of Maenalus along 
I roam at large ; or chase the foaming boar ; 
Or with sagacious hounds the wilds explore. 
Careless of cold. And now methinks I bound 
O'er rocks and cliffs, and hear the woods resound ; 
And now with beating heart I seem to wing 
The Cretan arrow from the Parthian string — 
As if I thus ray phrensy could forego, 
As if love's god could melt at human woe ! 



OF BEATTIE. 233 

Alas ! nor nymphs nor heavenly songs delight. 
Farewell, ye groves ! the groves no more invite. 
No pains, no miseries of man can move 
The unrelenting deity of love. 
To quench your thirst in Hebrus' frozen flood, 
To make the Scythian snows your drear abode, 
Or feed your flock on Ethiopian plains, 
AVhen Sirius' fiery constellation reigns 
(When deep-imbrown'd the languid herbage lies, 
And in the elm the vivid verdure dies). 
Were all in vain. Love's unresisted sway 
Extends to all, and we must love obey." 

'Tis done : ye Nine, here ends your poet's strain 
In pity sung to soothe his Gallus' pain, 
While leaning on a flowery .bank I twine 
The flexile osiers, and the basket join. 
Celestial Nine, your sacred influence bring, 
And soothe my Gallus' sorrows while I sing : 
Gallus, my much belov'd ! for whom I feel 
The flame of purest friendship rising still : 
So by a brook the verdant alders rise. 
When fostering zephyrs fan the vernal skies. 

Let us begone : at eve, the shade annoys 
With noxious damps, and hurts the singer's voice ; 
The juniper breathes bitter vapours round. 
That kill the springing corn, and blast the ground. 
Homeward, my sated goats, now let us hie ; 
Lo beamy Hesper gilds the western sky. 



234 THE POEMS 



J^PITAPH FOR A SHERIFFS MESSENGER: 

WRITTEN AND PUBLISHED AT THE PARTICULAR DESIRE 
OF THE PERSON FOR WHOM IT IS INTENDED. 

Alas, how empty all our worldly schemes ; 
Vain are our wishes, our enjoyment dreams. 
A debt to nature one and all must pay, 
Nor will the creditor defer her day ; 
Death comes a ynessenger, displays the writ. 
And to the fatal summons all submit. 
An earthly messenger I was of yore, 
The scourge of debtors then, but now — no more. 
Oft have I stood in all my pomp confess'd. 
The blazon beaming dreadful at my breast ; 
Oft have I wav'd on high th' attractive rod. 
And made the wretch obsequious to my nod. 
Pale shivering Poverty, that stalk'd behind. 
His greasy rags loose fluttering in the wind, 
And Terror, cudgel-arm'd, that strode before, 
Still to my deeds unquestion'd witness bore. 
Dire execution, as I march'd, was spread ; 
My threat'ning horn they heard — they heard and 
fled. [course, 

While thus destruction mark'd my headlong 
Nor mortals durst oppose my matchless force, 
A deadly ivarrant from the court of heaven 
To Death, the sovereign messenger, was given. 



OF BEATTIE. 235 

Swift as the lightning's instantaneous flame, 
Arm'd with his dart, the king of catchpoles came. 
My heart, unmov'd before, was seiz'd with fear, 
And sunk beneath his all-subduing spear ; 
To heaven's high bar the spirit wing'd its way, 
And left the carcass forfeit to the clay. 

Reader ! though every ill beset thee round, 
With patience bear, nor servilely despond. 
Though heaven awhile delay th' impending blow, 
Heaven sees the sorrows of the world below, 
And sets at last the suffering mourner free 
From famine, misery, pestilence, and me. 
June 28th, 1759. Mont. Abd. Ford " 



TO MR. ALEXANDER ROSS, 

AT L.OCUI.EE, AUTIIOK OF THE FOKTUNATE SHEPHERDESS, AND 
OTHER POEMS IN THE HKOAD SCOTCH DIALECT. 



O Ross, thou wale of hearty cocks, 
Sae crouse and canty with thy jokes, 
Thy hamely auldwarld muse provokes 

Me for awhile 
To ape our guid plain countra' folks 

In verse and stile. 

Sure never carle was haff sae gabby 
E're since the winsome days o' Habby : 



236 THE POEMS 

O mayst thou ne'er gang clung or shabby, 
Nor miss thy snaker, 

Or I'll ca' fortune nasty drabby, 

And say — pox take her ! 

O may the roupe ne'er roust thy weason, 
May thirst thy thrapple never gizzen ! 
But bottled ale in mony a dizzen, 

Aye lade thy gantry, 
And fouth o'vivres a' in season, 

Plenish thy pantry ! 

Lang may thy stevin fill wi' glee 
The glens and mountains of Lochlee, 
Which were right gowsty but for thee, 

Whase sangs enamour 
Ilk lass, and teach wi' melody 

The rocks to yamour. 

Ye shak your head, but, o' my fegs, 
Ye've set old Scota^ on her legs; 
Lang had she lyen wi' beffs and flegs 

Bumbaz'd and dizzie ; 
Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs, 

Waes me ! poor hizzie ! 

Since Allan's death naebody car'd 
For anes to speer how Scota far'd, 

1 The name Ross gives to his muse. 



OF BEATTIE. 237 

Nor plack nor thristled turner war'd 
To quench her drouth ; 

For frae the cottar to the laird 
We a' rin South. 

The Southland chiels indeed hae mettle. 
And brawlj at a sang can ettle, 
Yet we right couthily might settle 

0' this side Forth : 
The devil pay them wi* a pettle 

That slight the North. 

Our countra leed is far frae barren, 
It's even right pithy and aulfarren ; 
Oursells are neiper-like, I warran, 

For sense and smergh ; 
In kittle times when faes are yarring, 

We're no thought ergh. 

O bonny are our greensward hows, 
Where through the birks the birny rowii., 
And the bee bums, and the ox lows. 

And saft winds rusle, 
And shepherd lads, on sunny knows, 

Blaw the blythe fusle. 

It's true, we Norlans manna fa' 
To eat sae nice or gang sae bra'. 
As they that come from far awa; 

Yet sma's our skaith ; 
We've peace (and tliat's well worth it a') 

And meat and claith. 



238 THE POKMS 

Our fine newfangle sparks, I grant ye, 
Gie' poor auld Scotland mony a taunty ; 
They're grown sae ugertfu' and vaunty, 

And capernoited, 
They guide her like a canker'd aunty 

That's deaf and doited. 

Sae comes of ignorance I trow ; 

It's this that crooks their ill fa'r'd mou* 

Wi' jokes sae coarse, they gar fouk spue 

For downright skonner ; 
For Scotland wants na sons enew 

To do her honour. 

I here mighj; gie a skreed o' names, 

Dawties of Heliconian dames : 

The foremost place Gawin Douglas claims, 

That canty priest ; 
And wha can match the fifth King James 

For sang or jest? 

Montgomery grave, and Ramsay gay, 
Dunbar, Scot,^ Hawthornden, and mae 
Than I can tell ; for o' my fae, 

I maun break afF; 
'Twould take a live lang simmer day 

To name the half. 



1 Author of the Vision. [It was written by Ramsay, undei 
the name of Scot. A. D.j 



OF BEATTIE. 239 

The saucy chiels — I think they ca' them 
Criticks — the muckle sorrow claw them ! 
(For mense nor manners ne'er could awe them 
Frae their presumption) 
They need nae try thy jokes to fathom ; 
They want rumgumption. 

But ilka Mearns and Angus beam 

Thy tales and sangs by heart shall learn, 

And chiels shall come frae yont the Cairn 

Amounth, right yousty, 
If Ross will be so kind as share in 

Their pint at Drousty.* 

1 An alehouse in Lochlee. 



THE END, 



1^ 740 




■V * 



^ vO o t ^ Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 

„- .,^ ^- ,~^ ^ ^' ''^ ^ Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 

/ -'^-^"'' *■ fO Q-, *- Treatment Date: March 2009 

* .0 N ^ <,o q.^ 

V^^^'"^^, ^^ PreservationTechnologies 

'^ <^,- *• r({\%;^A, "^^ ^< A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

v:^ S" « ^A^^%7/^ 111 Thomson Park Drive 

\, ^ - ^^^JV"^^^ ^ Cranberry Township, PA 16066 

'\^' ^^ 1> loii^ "" -g' (724)779-2111 



'■'^^. ,^^^ 



,x> 















.0 o 









.\^^ "'^ 






« . n ■» ,'\ 



:^K''. -^.0^ '■ ^im^:. X >^^ 



.V 



- <r<^^ 







y KV -ft <^ ^ . 



A- 



^ '}t 



'■•^, * N ' 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




